Blind Encounters
by fatesinger
Summary: When Harry's friends realize he's suffering from a very boring sex life, they take matters into their own hands. Harry ends up in a Wizard Sex bar that specializes in hot encounters perfectly tailored to the witch or wizard. Although he can't see him to be sure, Harry's match seems rather...familiar... **RATED M FOR A REASON**
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! This is my first story on here, so enjoy and give lots and lots of feedback! **

**All that junk about all of this belonging to the great goddess J.K., I own nothing. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction anonymously would I?**

**Anyways enjoy lovelies!**

Harry Potter craned his neck to see over the bustling crowds whipping back in forth in the craze of the city, his hands shoved casually in the pockets of his jeans as he walked. He was searching the dusk for one sign in particular amidst the chaotic sea of flashing neon …aha! A large, blinking arrow caught his eye from a few blocks down. He brushed a wayward strand of unruly fringe out of his eyes, growling under his breath at his uncooperative raven locks. His habitually messy hair was, well, messy as ever, although Harry had finally given in to Hermione's mothering and cut it short in the back and on the sides. However, no matter how much she bugged him, he refused to raze it all, leaving him with long, messy bangs in the front that, no matter how hard he tried, always managed to get caught under his glasses and itch his nose mercilessly.

Dodging wizards and muggles alike, he ambled along to his destination, humming tunelessly under his breath. Since the war, he had taken to using a glamour while out and about on the streets; the appearance of The Chosen One going about his daily business was often far too scintillating for the reporters to handle. He had been forced to abandon his daily ventures to cower in his flat far more times than he'd like to admit when he had a particularly overwhelmingly fan club-y day. Plus it was oddly fun to experiment with his appearance; a few days of aqua hair and purple eyes had been rather freeing. Nearing the entrance, his feet slowed as he examined the brightly oscillating naked woman adorning the sign that proclaimed this building a muggle strip club. However, due to Harry's friends' worry about his love life, (or lack-there-of) he knew this building was not all that it appeared. Half smiling, half grimacing, he recalled the horrendously awkward conversation that had led up to him promising a visit to this nondescript venue.

"So Harry, what have you been up to lately?" Hermione said, turning to her friend with angelic purity practically radiating from her pores. He glared at her. She looked back innocently, swirling the dark red liquid in her glass.

Harry inwardly sighed. Sipping at his wine, he sank deeper into the engulfing black hole that they called a couch in her and Ron's modest but comfortable flat. The couple's flat had become a second home to him, and this sort of question had become almost a weekly routine at the dinners that were a weekly to twice weekly occurrence.

"Haven't you told her that, by know, I know all her little tricks to find out about my sex life?" Harry said, grinning innocently to his best friend Ron, who was seated in an arm chair across from him.

Ron laughed and Hermione turned a delicate shade of pink. Running a hand over his recently shorn, carroty hair, he replied "I dunno mate, at least she hasn't gone as far as to straight up ask you if you've had a nice shag lately." Hermione smacked her husband on the arm glaring at him. Ron yelped, rubbing his arm, sending the rambunctious brunette a wounded look. She crossed her arms and stared back. Ron sent a helpless look towards Harry. "Women," he mouthed, earning him another smack.

Laughing at the couple's antics, Harry looked back at Hermione saying pointedly. "I have been up to nothing Hermione, the exact same kind of nothing I've been up to for a long time."

"A long, long, long, long time," he thought to himself, staring meditatively into his long stemmed glass. It had been a long time since he'd been up to anything with anyone. He sighed. That was the price he paid for being a healer; the hours were ridiculously long and incredibly random. He often got calls to come in the middle of the night for a "medical emergency" that often constituted of him squeezing pus out of boils that an amateur potions brewer had inflicted on himself with a Glowing Skin potion gone wrong, or something equally un-urgent. Of course the fact that he was a closeted gay didn't help. The last time he'd been with anyone was a hot and heavy one night stand with a hunk he'd found in a muggle bar. At this point, he figured he'd shag almost anything. It could be a 250 pound house elf with halitosis and a flatulence problem; if it had the right junk, he'd still shag it.

Well…maybe he wasn't that desperate yet, but he was getting damn close.

"Well that's your fault isn't it?" Hermione sniffed, interrupting Harry's inner bemoaning. "You'd find a lot more options if you'd just come out of the closet you know."

Harry rolled his eyes at the return of that rusty argument. It was mentioned at least once a month by Hermione, and even occasionally Ron, who thought he would be much better off just telling everyone he was gay.

"Yeah, and let The Prophet have a field day with it!" he snorted. "The Golden Boy becomes The Rainbow Boy. Harry Poofter! I can see it now."

Ron snickered but still attempted reason, replying "C'mon Harry, what does it matter what The Prophet says? If you're gay, you're gay. They can deal with it."

Hermione nodded encouragingly at Ron. "Yes Harry, and besides what about your…urges?" she said, blushing lightly again. "You're still a male, and a young one at that. Going without...sex…for too long can't be healthy."

Harry cheeks burned with mortification to hear his best friend talk about his "urges". She was normally quite prudish, and he was perfectly fine with that. "Come off it Hermione, I'm fine. I like my closet, my clothes and shoes keep me very fine company. You know what, it's even big enough for two! It's just not big enough for everyone I know, plus everyone who reads The Prophet." He replied, cheeks still burning as he skillfully avoided her eyes. "Then again, maybe I could rush out and lock them within to burn in the fiery pits of hell for eternity," he said, looking thoughtful. "That sounds like a much better plan."

Ron, who had been staring at his wife in abject horror since she had mentioned Harry's sexual needs, shook himself out of his shocked state and commented dryly to Harry, "Well she's getting bolder."

Harry snickered as Ron quailed under his wife's fierce gaze.

Turning back to Harry, Ron grimaced and said, "Hate to go there mate, but you know she's kind of right. I doubt you've been with anyone for months, and that's just not healthy. Come on, when was the last time you had a decent shag?"

Harry smiled dryly at Ron's intuition, and, in typical Harry Potter fashion, ignored the question. "You know it's not just me being in the closet that's keeping me from seeing anyone," he remarked to the couple, heaving himself up from the couch. He headed to the kitchen to refill his almost empty glass. "You know my hours are insane, and besides, have you ever considered the fact that maybe I don't want to see anyone?" he called, grabbing the wine from the counter.

"No." The couple replied in unison.

Harry's hand stilled on the bottle, and he sighed. Sometimes they just knew him too well. It had been too long…and he knew it, but the last few times had been okay at best, and he just wasn't ready for more disappointment yet. The only time he'd ever really felt something….he shivered as the memory went straight to groin. He sighed again, padding back into the living room, bottle in hand. He seemed to be sighing a lot lately. Looking up at his friends from his re-occupied niche in the couch, he shook off the memory of heated kisses and frantic groping. That was to be revisited later that night, without the company of his two best mates. While he had been zoning, Hermione had grabbed something off of the desk in the corner and was trying to hand it to him.

"-ought to be able to help you out," he heard her say. He blinked. "Sorry what?" he said, reaching out automatically to take the brochure she was handing him.

"I said," Hermione said exasperatedly, "that this place ought to be able to help you out."

"Oh bloody hell Hermione," Harry burst out upon looking down at the brochure. It read Hot Encounters: Sex Bar for Witches and Wizards. "I can't even believe you picked this up." He said, picturing the prim witch at the kind of strip club that would carry this kind of advertisement.

Hermione blushed a deep magenta and said primly, "It was an experience I'd rather not repeat. I was trying to help you, so appreciate the effort and at least read about it."

Harry rolled his eyes at her and sent a desperate look at Ron who shrugged back helplessly. Leafing through the brochure, his eyes grew wider and wider with each article until they were practically bugged out his head.

"It's got all sorts of diagnosing charms…is that the right word for? I suppose it is. Anyways it has lots of diagnosing charms that tell the matching witch who to put you with, like sexual preference, kinks or fetishes, the type of personality you would be attracted to, all sorts of things that you might not even know yourself!" Hermione prattled on, oblivious to Harry's mute embarrassment that grew with every further word that came out of his friend's mouth.

"They cast a ruddy blinding spell on you!" Harry burst out, aghast.

"Well yes Harry, it's to preserve identity." Hermione said, blinking at him as though it were obvious. "I mean how awkward would it be if you spotted the person with which you just had promiscuous relations out on the street? Or worse, you find them at your work place?!" She shuddered delicately. "That would be horrid."

"I see your point," Harry muttered. "They really take this 'blind date' thing a little far don't they?"

Obviously finding the entire situation hilariously funny, Ron had been, until that moment, attempting to hide his laughter, but he abandoned all efforts at his wife's use of "promiscuous relations" and he was openly guffawing. Recovering slightly, under the unamused gaze of both Harry and Hermione, he wiped his eyes and said, "Alright Harry, I get that you don't want us prying into your life anymore, but would you promise us you'll at least check it out? C'mon, you know you need it."

"FINE!" Harry practically shouted. "Anything to get you two wankers off my case," He muttered under his breath, shooting a wary glance at the mildly terrifying bit of paper in his lap.


	2. Chapter 2

That is why a suddenly very nervous Harry Potter found himself unable to move, staring at the door as though it would sprout teeth and bite him if he touched it. He wasn't sure why he was here…he certainly didn't need any more complications in his life. His life at the hospital combined with the ever-present pressures of being the savior of the bloody world didn't exactly make each day a cakewalk.

But…

Screw it. He needed to fuck someone so badly he almost didn't care if it was a woman. Almost. Mustering his courage, he grabbed the door handle and walked in before he could change his mind. He was immediately hit smack in the face by the wave of loud, raucous music and incredulity at the sheer numbers of gyrating muggle bodies he saw on the dance floor.

Wincing at the extreme volume, he covered his ear with one hand and, covertly holding his wand with the other, whispered a revealing charm in accordance to the directions in the now well thumbed pamphlet. The air above his head shimmered gently and bright red writing wavered into existence. The floating letters pointed "All witches and wizards" to a door tucked obscurely in a corner of the hazy club. Navigating through all the sweaty bodies intent on grinding themselves on every possible available surface proved a task all in itself as he attempted to cross the room. Harry stiffened as a woman wearing a sum total of about 5 inches of leather grabbed ahold of him, inserting herself directly into his personal bubble. She smiled predatorily at him, baring teeth as she shimmied athletically against him. Harry shuddered, tugged violently out of her grasping arms, and ran. Peering quickly through the door, he saw a glimpse of a softly lit corridor and darted in, pulling the door shut behind him. The pounding beat immediately disappeared, leaving him in blissful silence.

He heaved a great sigh of relief and sagged against the door. Feeling slightly more secure, he removed his glamour with a quick swipe of his wand. Examining the low lit hallway, more arrows caught his eye, pointing to what seemed to him to be a dead end. Puzzled, he walked closer, examining the wall. Faint movement caught his eye, and he watched as two words swirled hypnotically into existence on the cream colored wall. They read, **Charm: Ensperatio**. Hoping this was the correct action and that it wouldn't create a devastating monsoon of frogs or something equally horrifying, he pointed his wand at the wall, reciting the spell with a standard swish and flick. He watched with vague trepidation as a faint grinding sound emanated from the wall and a silver door knob emerged. Gingerly turning it, he pushed gently. It didn't budge. He stared at the knob and pushed harder, jiggling the knob a bit. Still not even a centimeter of give. Glaring at the knob, he shoved into the wall with his shoulder. The wall immediately ceased to exist and he stumbled, almost falling flat on his face. Recovering his balance, he found himself in an oddly round room, with three doors and a desk behind which sat a detached looking woman holding a clipboard, a quick-quotes quill floating about her head.

"Name?" she said, looking at him over half moon reading glasses. The quill jerked to attention over the clipboard.

He jumped and stared at her for a second until he comprehended the question. He wondered for a brief moment if it would be worth it to give her an alias, but released that notion on the grounds of his now lack of disguise and obvious scar and trademark round glasses.

"Harry Potter," he said, staring at her daringly as if to say _Yeah, that Harry Potter. Care to do anything about it? _

He was relieved when she gave no indication of recognition and the quill simply wrote down his name with an annoying eagerness that reminded Harry far too much of a certain beetle animagus.

"Stand against that wall please," she said, motioning to a wall next to the mahogany looking desk.

He did as she asked, wondering absently if her apparent lack of recognition was due to professionalism or perhaps maybe even that she was a muggle employed just to fill out paper work. After all, he had a feeling this wasn't the sort of place a muggle-hating pureblood would most likely be frequenting. When she pulled out a wand and began muttering incantations, he gave her silent kudos for either a spectacular poker face or her spectacular ignorance. The quick-quotes quill followed close behind, scratching down information that the, he guessed, diagnostic spells were giving the woman. He was suddenly struck with a horrifying image of the bespectacled woman in silk under things gasping and moaning as she read through all of his sexual information.

He shuddered and, in a desperate attempt to distract himself, Harry let his gaze wander through the room. It was a cozy room with mood lighting and gold wall papered walls that seemed to shimmer in the low light. The lack of windows gave it a cozy feel rather than a claustrophobic one and Harry wondered where exactly the building was located. Wizard space was wild and unpredictable, so really it was entirely possible that they were sitting in the bottom of the ocean. All available space on the wall was filled with couches, divans, and chairs resting on the deep red carpet, all adorned by various tasseled pillows. All the prints were varying patterns of red and gold, and he wondered wryly if this place had been designed by a Gryffindor. Turning his attention back to the clerk, he noticed that the quill had stopped writing, and she was reading the information it had written down. Despite his self assurances that she was incredibly professional and of course did this numerous times each day, his face burned at the thought of her reading such intimate information about his sexual appetites.

"We have here the results of your sexual aptitude test," the blond woman intoned in an uninterested voice.

Harry nodded stiffly. His heart was pounding and he was questioning his sanity; why had he ever agreed to come in here? He fingered a stray bit of hair unconsciously as she stared at him over her glasses.

"Based on your results we have found a perfect sexual partner for you," she said suddenly, moving her eyes back to the clipboard.

Harry flushed and nodded furiously. He wondered what his results were; after all, he didn't have much experimentation under his belt what with being closeted and all. As if reading his mind, the woman said "You may view your results in your room while you are waiting for you companion. Please follow him," she said motioning towards a tattooed man in ripped jeans and a sleeveless leather jacket, "to your room. Your partner will arrive shortly, soon after we cast the blindfold spell. You may speak, although it is recommended for your pleasure that you remain silent."

Harry nodded mutely and began following the man through one of the doors and down the hallway revealed. The man, whose nametag read Joe, seemed so out of place at such an elegant venue in his beat up bouncer attire that Harry almost laughed. Smirking to himself, he tried to see where they were headed. They were in a low lit corridor of silver walls and blue carpets, the walls punctuated only with the occasional door, through which to Harry's acute embarrassment, he could hear the obvious and recognizable sounds of shagging. The moaning and thumping brought blood to his face but also other places, and he felt his jeans become uncomfortably tight. Covertly adjusting himself, he followed the stoic man until they reached a door and Harry was motioned inside.

He heard the soft click of the door behind him and turned to investigate the room. It was a sexy feature with a low platform bed on which was a silver and black coverlet. An imposing looking desk stood beside it. The carpet was a soft red, and the accents were a bold combination of black and red. All in all, from the dark wood to the modern lighting it was very tasteful, although Harry wondered why they bothered considering their clients were going to be blinded most of the time.

Wandering about, he noticed a pile of papers on the desk and saw they were his results. Giving the first page a quick once over, he saw the usual things he already knew. Physical Description of Client: Average height, above average musculature, broad shoulders, square jaw, black hair, green eyes, scar on upper right forehead. Sexual Preference: Male. Preferred physical stature: Tall, thin, fit. Preferred Physical Description: Blonde, short to medium length hair, angular features. Harry looked up from the paper, his eyes resting on a pair of sliding doors in the wall. Pushing his glasses up his nose he ambled over to it and peered inside. Blanching at its contents, he almost slammed the doors, but instead made himself take inventory. From anal plugs and dildos to canes and whips, this closet had it all. Harry could have sworn he even saw costumes for Role Play. This closet had to be magicked, there was no way in hell all of that stuff would actually fit into the confines of the closet doors. Gently closing the closet doors, he sat down on the bed and kicked off his trainers to read the rest of his results. He had only gotten as far as "Sexual Role: submissive" (What the bloody fuck? Harry had always been the dominant) when he heard a knock on the door and the head of Joe from the hallway came into sight.

"I've come to put the blindfolding charm on," Joe The Hallway Man, as Harry had already begun to think of him as, said monotonously, his voice at odds with his clothing. "Your partner has seen your results, though not your identity and will arrive shortly, knowing best how to pleasure you."

Harry flushed and nodded at the leather clad man.

"I'm going to need for you to take your glasses off," he said in the same monotone. Harry nodded absently and slid his glasses from his face, the world instantly becoming fuzzy. He put them in the closet and haphazardly tossed in his trainers. He sat back on the bed and Joe The Hallway Man pulled out something that, in his glasses-less state, Harry only assumed was a wand. Muttering something that sounded like blue aardvarks, Joe The Hallway Man waved his wand and everything went dark. Well, mostly dark. To Harry's surprise he could still see the outlines of everything in the room, Joe The Hallway Man included, although if he hadn't seen the man before the spell, he would never be able to know who it was.

_No wonder they call this the blindfold spell,_ thought Harry, as the bouncer-like man left.

It truly looked as though someone had just placed an imperfect blindfold over his vision, and though he could still see outlines, there was no way he'd be able to even recognize Ron with this spell on. Oh no, thinking of Ron right before he was about to have, as Hermione would say, promiscuous relations was a terrible idea. He was completely and embarrassingly flaccid, and quickly he brought to mind the one memory always guaranteed to make him hard. _Dark corridors, fuzzy minds from too much Firewhiskey, mouth forced on mouth, a battle as they kissed, a frenzied height of passion, hips grinding, the delicious friction of robes against their straining members…_Harry moaned at the memory, palming his growing erection.

"What a delicious sound," a voice murmured sexily above him. 


	3. Chapter 3

Harry startled at the voice and froze. Hearing the intent of the voice he grinned and began stroking his erection through his jeans with one hand.

"My sounds aren't the only thing that's delicious," murmured Harry throatily.

The mystery man reached out a finger and ran it slowly down across Harry's lips. Harry made an embarrassing breathy noise and let his tongue stroke the digit, pressing a little nip onto the pad of the finger.

Harry took this opportunity to gaze at the silhouette of the man above as he licked and sucked on the digit. The man looked tall and thin, fit without being overly muscled. His mouth appeared to be hanging slightly ajar as he watched Harry's tongue, his fashionably messy hair falling into his face. Unfortunately Harry couldn't make out any distinct facial features; he was sure this man would be mouth watering.

"I'll bet there are many parts of you that are delicious," the man said huskily. "And I plan to taste them all."

Harry could have sworn the man winked. He shivered as the words went straight to his groin and his hips involuntarily thrust the air. Suddenly the man moved incredibly swiftly, pressing his knee onto the bed next to Harry's arm. His mouth was now mere centimeters from Harry's ear, and his fine hair was tickling the edge of his face.

"Hmm, I see someone's excited to see me," murmured the mystery man, palming Harry's erection.

Harry's mouth hung slack and he was mortified to hear himself making even more embarrassing mewling sounds as the heat of the man's breath on his ear, one of his (apparently) sensitive spots, combined with the sensations of being stroked down there to create a very pleasurable sensation indeed. Suddenly the man placed a forceful nip to Harry's earlobe and Harry gasped at the unfamiliar pain and was shocked to find his cock pulsing even more than it had been before. He could feel the man's smile on his ear. He squeezed Harry's arse and Harry moaned. Jesus! Harry cursed at himself…he was acting practically virginal!

And then suddenly he didn't care because fuck he hadn't felt this way since…since a long time ago.

"I'm going to fuck you seven ways to Sunday and when I'm done with you, you won't even be able to sit on that fantastic arse of yours without feeling me in it," growled the man, and suddenly his mouth was on Harry's.

Harry returned the kiss with a passion that came from the spectacular chemistry that sparked between them and an abandon that could only come from not having any sort of non platonic relationship for the past two years. The man's tongue roughly invaded his mouth, stroking, tasting, and claiming in a way that he'd never felt before. In a flash, his hands were pinned behind his head and his legs were being pressed apart by the man's knee, although his mouth never left Harry's. Leaving Harry's panting lips behind, the man turned his attention to his neck and Harry's hazy lust-addled brain was sharpened momentarily by a sharp sucking on his neck.

He jumped along with his mental cock, the pain surprising him. Had the mystery man just left a hickey? A bloody love bite?! What the bloody hell! He was distracted from his silent disbelief by the man's lips on a particularly sensitive part of his neck, one of his hands fisting in Harry's already mussed hair and tugging roughly.

"Ah!" Harry gasped, the pain warring with the pleasure. He tried to reach for the man's hair to return the favor and see if it was as silky as he hoped it was, but found that his arms were still restrained above his head by one of the man's surprisingly strong, long fingered hands. He tried to move them down but gasped when the man gave a particularly vicious nip to his neck.

"Don't move. I'm in charge here," growled the man. He turned his attention back to licking and sucking on Harry's neck until Harry gasped out garbled pleas. Harry could feel the other man's smile on his neck until he reached his shirt.

"Why the fuck are you still wearing clothes?" murmured the man, almost to himself. Harry bared his teeth in a smile. He had been wondering the same thing. Wriggling from the man's grasp, he flipped the other man onto his back on the bed, taking advantage of his stronger frame as he straddled the man's hips. Ignoring the other man's indignant cry, he ground his erection into the other man's sizeable package, smiling as the man's cries of indignance turned into yelps of pleasure. Practically ripping off his shirt in his haste, he turned bare-chested to the man and _literally _ripped off his shirt, sending buttons flying.

_Maybe the charms had been wrong about the whole submissive thing,_ he thought as he pinned the man's hands above his head like he had done to Harry earlier.

The man growled dangerously, and Harry almost gasped as the vibrations traveled straight to his neglected erection.

"You'll pay for that," the man said in a soft voice that could only be described as predatory. "That shirt was expensive as hell, and now I'm on the bottom."

Harry could almost see the dangerous glitter in his eyes.

"I'm _never_ on the bottom," the man whispered. The tremor in his muscles betrayed his intention, but Harry was still too slow to avoid the lightning fast movement that had him once again pinned beneath the now shirtless man, unable to do anything but stare opened mouthed at the silhouette of the man now dominating _him_.

_Hmm, maybe those tests weren't so wrong after all_, he thought distractedly, thrusting his hips up to meet the other man's, squirming beneath his lithe frame.

"I think I'm gonna fuck you now," whispered the man sweetly into his ear. "And it's gonna be hard and fast and rough and _you're going to beg me for more_,"

Oh fuck. Harry almost lost it at the dirty words, and his gasped out "Please!" made the man chuckle darkly.

"Yes darling," he drawled, his voice muffled by Harry's neck. "Beg for it."

Harry obliged him, babbling breathy pleas as the mystery man grabbed his wand, and literally charmed the pants off him. Now with Harry pants-less, he muttered a spell that covered his long fingered hand in something slick and his fingers were inside Harry before he could think about what he was doing.

"You're so tight," hissed the other man, breathing hard. Harry grinned as he squirmed, trying to impale himself even further onto those long fingers. The man added another finger, and another until Harry was seeing spots from trying to keep from coming. He was ready. Harry reached out with a force that he was surprised his jelly-like limbs could muster and grabbed the other man's neck, pulling him down to his face.

"Fuck me," he whispered savagely.

"Yes sir," smirked the other man, and Harry could feel the man's cock pressing against his entrance. The man cried out and thrust, burying himself to the hilt in Harry's ass. Harry gasped and winced. Fuck that hurt. It'd been a long time since anything but his own fingers had occupied that space. But then the man started to move, long, fast thrusts at a punishing pace that felt just, oh god, he couldn't think, could only gasp and moan and feel. It was hard and fast and just as deliciously rough as the man had promised. Harry matched the other man's thrusts with his own as the sensation reached higher and higher until it peaked, and Harry shattered just as he heard the cry of the other man that could only mean he, too, was finished. Sated and buzzing softly with a post-coital heaviness, Harry could done nothing but stare at the ceiling and let his eyelids succumb to the exhaustion that consumed him. He realized his arms were no longer pinned, and the last thing he did was to wrap his arms loosely around the other man's warm weight on his chest before he let soft darkness over take him.


	4. Chapter 4

When Harry woke up the other man was gone, and he could see properly again, or at least as properly as he ever saw without his glasses. He was confused at his sight for a moment, but shrugged figuring the blindfold charm just must have worn off. There was no evidence that the mystery man had ever been there except an aching in Harry's arse. Sitting up gingerly, Harry reached for his clothes, wincing at the pain.

"Well, he did warn me," thought Harry smirking ruefully at the hollow ache.

That's when it hit him.

He'd just had unprotected, fantastic, mind-blowing sex with a fucking stranger. A man he had never set eyes on in his life! And _he'd fucking loved it_. Every fucking minute of it. Harry put his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes tiredly. What the hell was wrong with him? Did this make him some creepy, perverted sex maniac that was so desperate he needed a sex company to set him up with someone?

_No, that was just some much needed fun,_ he decided. _Besides, _he thought as he stretched languorously, _I feel great. Better than I have in ages._

He did too. As he pulled on his clothes, he felt relaxed and content, and even caught himself smiling for no particular reason. Opening the closet door, he groped around for his glasses. Putting them back on, he sighed in relief as the world came back into focus. He reached back into the closet for his trainers, studiously ignoring the other contents. He shoved his feet into his trainers, glancing at his watch.

"Fuck!" he swore and hurried out, leaving the two galleon service fee sitting on the bed.

Pushing the door of the building open, Harry drew in a deep breath of fresh air. Leaning against the brick side of the building, which he swore he could feel vibrating from the ridiculous volume of the music inside, he checked his watch again and decided that the 5:30 time was not nearly as dire as he had thought it was. He had a whole hour to make it to St. Bridgett's, the wizard hospital where he worked, for his evening shift. He closed his eyes and just breathed, letting the honking of horns and bustle of people rushing past him on the side walk soothe his frazzled nerves. Taking one last big breath, he opened his eyes, and he balanced himself against the brick on the tips of his fingers for a moment before pushing himself off and inserting himself into the crowd of people. Annoying the masses, he ambled along at his own pace, enjoying the anonymity that the muggle world gave him. People sent him no adoring looks, no insane reporters were tracking his every move, and the glares that were sent his way were simply because of his lack of inclination to get out of people's way as they bustled along to their various and asundry destinations. He smiled contentedly. Life was good. Now his next order of business was to get home and take a shower and prepare for the inevitable curiosity and gossip of his colleagues when they saw the purpling hickey on his neck.

Draco Malfoy was pissed. His head was pounding painfully, and he was especially pissed because he had not been pissed an hour ago. He had been most decidedly un-pissed in fact. He assumed that was what happened when a person had fantastic sex. Draco licked his lips unconsciously at the memory of the mewls of the muscled man that been beneath him nigh 70 minutes before. Unfortunately, his entire post-coital glow had been most certainly sapped by a wrong order of Licking Lizards that had arrived by floo at his Apothecary with their cages open. They had escaped to wreak havoc, and saliva, all over his neatly organized and alphabetized shelves. Someone would pay for this mistake. Draco did not yet know who or how, but they would pay. A knock on the door of his office distracted him from his murderous thoughts.

"What do you want?" he growled as the door creeped opened to reveal Caleb, his nervous looking imports coordinator, clutching a clipboard to his chest like a shield. He was covered in what Draco assumed was Lizard saliva, and had one of the offending creatures hanging off his ear like an incredibly distasteful earring. Draco shivered in disgust as he watched the thing stick its long, purplish tongue into his poor coordinator's ear.

"What do you want?" he snapped at Caleb, almost sending the already nervous coordinator running from the room.

"The- the Lizards are all contained," Caleb stuttered.

"Except for the one hanging off your ear," Draco commented dryly.

Caleb's eyes widened and he reached a trembling hand slowly to his ear. Uttering a muffled shriek when his fingers hit the reposing creature, he ran from the room making more of the effeminate, undignified shrieking noses. His clipboard clattered forgotten to the floor, and Draco winced, the noise making his already pounding headache flare.

Moments later, Caleb returned, looking shaken and embarrassed, but Licking Lizard free.

"Now that you have managed to contain your ear cleaner, would you care to update me with the status of my Apothecary?" Draco said calmly, trying not to fluster his worker with his perfected casual disdain any more than necessary.

"Uh, yes sir," Caleb said, flushing a deep maroon. "The Lizards have now truly all been contained-"

"Did you check the rest of the employees' ears?" Draco interrupted, smirking lightly.

Caleb flushed even further, if that were possible.

"They have all been contained sir, and the cages flooed back to the supplier," he said stiffly. "There has been no serious damage sustained, except for one broken vial of Hungarian Horntail Dragon's Blood."

Draco sighed internally. That was a very expensive mistake; however, he looked forward to writing a scathing letter to the supplier that had supplied him with not only the wrong product, but the wrong product in faulty containing devices. That man, whoever he was, would cower and pay any price that Draco demanded of him. He smirked slightly to himself. Yes, that was one perk of being a known reformed Death Eater with a very successful potions supply company: he got what he wanted, and he got it fast. Caleb's reedy voice called him back to reality.

"-have all been reorganized, and all products put back where they belong. Cleaning charms have been used on the floors and on some of the employees," Caleb finished, looking at Draco expectantly.

Draco sighed, unable to be frustrated with his employee anymore; he knew it wasn't Caleb's fault, and despite the irritating timbre of his voice and his tendency to flounder about when the situation turned difficult, he was blameless here.

"You look like you could use one of those cleaning charms yourself," said Draco, sitting back and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. "Everyone is finished for the day, and you are as well as soon as you place the order for the Mud Toads that we had originally ordered - and for Merlin's sake, not from the same supplier!" he groaned.

He vaguely heard Caleb squeak his thanks and assurances, but didn't take his hands off his eyes until the door clicked shut behind his unfortunate worker. He sighed heavily, blinking a few times and placed his hands flat on his dark wood desk, leaning his weight onto it. Even the relaxing dark wood and pale purples and silvers of the décor in his spacious office couldn't help him relax right now; he was exhausted from his, albeit amazing, activities earlier that day and from the work disasters. He could not fathom how his day had gone from fantastically amazing to fantastically shitty in the course of one hour.

His mystery man had been… amazing. The best he'd ever had in that place, which he'd been frequenting for an embarrassingly long time, considering his young age and attractiveness. This was the first man that Draco had ever wanted to see again- well technically not see. But hear and feel again…yes. His tailored black trousers began to feel slightly constricting as he recalled the tightness of the man's arse…he almost moaned when he thought of the way the other man's hands had fisted in his hair and his guttural plea: _"Fuck me,"_ he had demanded. Well when he was asked so nicely, how could Draco say no?

He had been a perfect mixture of challenge and submission, from his pliant body beneath Draco's fingers to the unexpected flipping of the situation when suddenly Draco had been on the bottom. Draco's lips parted as he recalled the weight of the heavily muscled man laying on him, and the physical ripping of his shirt from his body. Draco sneered. That had been his favorite shirt, and an expensive one at that; next time, he would pay for that. Draco smiled evilly to think of all the ways he could punish his favorite mystery man; hickeys, orgasm denial, spanking…the possibilities were endless. Maybe he would even dip into the supplies that The Closet offered. Draco shivered; that thing was frankly disturbing. Once, in one of his more adventurous trysts, he had examined its depths a little closer and, among other things, he'd even found a tureen of hot wax in there. He shuddered again; whatever kind of horrific kinks other people had, his were slightly tamer.

Draco smiled; thoughts of his mystery man had brightened his day again considerably, and the thoughts of The Closet had tamed his budding erection enough that he needn't fear embarrassment. Draco stood up and, throwing his robes over his arm, stuck his wand in his pocket. Whistling, he prepared to apparate home; what he needed right now was good food, some expensive wine, and a hot shower.

Draco sighed in contentment. His hot shower had been soothing and the food prepared by his house elf, Cypress, was just what he needed after a long day like the one he'd had. The smell of his lavender shampoo combined with the wine was making him sleepy, and the fire roaring in the wide, modern fireplace was seeping into his bones and making his limbs feel heavy.

Draco gazed around his parlor in content. He loved his home; after Malfoy Manor had been destroyed in the war, he'd needed a new place to live that fit him more than the cold marble of his other home had. He had loved his parents and their home, but memories of the last few years of living in the manor with an increasingly unstable Lucius had led to him being almost glad to be free of his childhood home.

He'd stayed with various relatives and friends in the pursuit of a builder and designer who were tasteful, modern, and, importantly, willing to work with a reformed Death Eater. Finally he'd been able to find a wizard builder who would help him, and together they designed a spacious, light-filled home that contained a lab for his potions hobby, and a beautiful octagonal greenhouse out back for growing rarer potions ingredients, both for himself and for his apothecary. Draco loved the smell of the greenhouse; the smell of soil and things growing was both soothing and so hopeful, hinting at the life that came. Though he would never admit it, he loved all of his plants and cared for them as though they were his children, even the carnivorous ones. Occasionally he would talk to them, murmuring his worries and excitements to the humid, sunny air. Once or twice, he'd even slept out with his plants; he found they eased his mind.

The builder was so good and efficient that Draco hired him again to design his Apothecary a year later. Unfortunately, the designer had been harder to find. The only designers that seemed to design in the fashion he wanted were adamantly anti-Death Eater and he had received more than a few howlers from the various designers over the course of his search. After what seemed to be the fiftieth request and denial, Draco had to admit defeat. He had finally approached Hermione Granger with help finding a muggle designer. He had begged her silence towards her friends regarding his request in the most dignified way he knew. After all, he still had the Malfoy pride. She originally regarded his request with suspicion and wariness as he knew she would. If Granger had approached him with a request for help finding a snotty pureblood designer he would probably not even acknowledge the request for the outrageousness of it. Fortunately, Granger had been more accepting and tentatively met with Draco to help him find the sort of designer he wanted. She found him the perfect designer within the first week and Draco had been so grateful he'd bought her a necklace, which he sent to her accompanied by a note that read something along the lines of -

Granger,

I don't care if you wear this or sell it for a profit on the black market, but for god's sake, thank you.

Draco Malfoy

She had sent him a polite but bemused sounding "thank you" letter in which she told of basic decency (Draco had snorted at that; he'd shown her little enough over the years) and of her plans to sell the necklace to raise money for charity. He had rolled his eyes at the pure Gryffindor in that action, but nonetheless respected her plans. After all, his designer had been perfect.

He knew he had probably driven her insane with his posh blueblood accent and attitude and what, by muggle standards, must have seemed to be crazy requests. These included but were not limited to a fireplace wide enough for a floo channel, a rack in one of his hallways for holding his brooms, and a special cupboard in his lab to house and display his cauldrons. Though shaking her head and grumbling throughout, the designer had done everything Draco had asked for, leaving him with beautiful hard wood floors and sleek, modern finishes. The colors were in a range of everything from black and silver to white and lilac, although nowhere in his house was the color green.

Working with a muggle had made him realize just how stupid his bias against muggles had been. He almost admired their ability to live without magic, and so despite his continued Slytherin loyalty, Draco preferred to leave that section of his life behind him along with many of the ridiculous pureblood biases. He knew he wasn't perfect in upholding his unbiased life style, but he did the best he could. Soon after that, his Apothecary had flourished, and despite continued hatred from those who bore grudges against him for his time supporting the Dark Lord, he was happier than he'd ever been.

Draco allowed himself to be lost in reminiscence for a moment, but when he felt his eyes start to droop and his brain begin to fuzz around the edges, he shook himself back into awareness. He still had work to do. Closing his eyes briefly, he arched, cat-like, on the sofa and took an undignified swig of his wine. Placing his glass on the table beside the sofa, he stood up and stretched lithely, blinking the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes.

Padding towards his office, he searched for a quill and parchment. He had scathing letters to write and notes arranging another encounter with his mystery man to send. Draco smiled.

He could hardly wait.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry pressed open St Bridgett's doors, welcoming the reprieve from the heat as the cool air rushed over his still sensitive skin. Although it was cloudy, the norm for areas around London, the cloud cover did not stop the temperature from climbing. Thanks to the cloud cover, this was the worst kind of heat: a muggy, clinging heat that seemed to remain in Harry's lungs as he smiled reassuringly to the patients waiting in the lobby, passing the burbling fountain that dominated the lobby of the hospital. Over ten feet tall, the monstrous fountain had been donated anonymously to the hospital over fifty years before. It was rumored by the hospital employees that the previous owner had run blood over its green copper façade, rather than the pure water that ran now.

Harry tugged on the neckline of his shirt, trying in vain to cover the bright purple bruise that marred the bronzed skin of his neck. He groaned silently, thinking of the field day Teresa would have upon seeing the hickey. Nicknamed Mother Teresa by Harry, although Teresa had never understood the muggle reference, she was the most infamous gossiper in the whole hospital, as well as once of Harry's best friends in the building. He almost wanted to smack the mystery man for giving Teresa such potent gossip material. And then kiss him. And then make him moan. And then – _No, not right now,_ Harry scolded himself, quickening his pace to the reception desks. _Work is really the wrong situation to get hard._

Stopping at his favorite receptionist, Elizabeth, he bid her a quick hello, taking the files that she held out to him. Flipping through his assignments, he heaved a sigh. "Burn Care – floor 2 Patient- Sydney Malifess. Boil Draining – floor 5 Patient – George Cantihack. Bone Regrowth – floor 1 Patient – Blaise Zabini." Not only had he been giving the most mundane jobs, they were all over the place in the hospital. Also, something struck him as familiar about one of the names on the list_…__Zabini__…__Zabini__…_ he thought to himself, trying to place the name. He was so involved in his thoughts, he didn't notice a small raven haired woman sneak up behind him.

"Aha! What have we here?" the raven haired woman, otherwise known as the infamous Teresa, cried triumphantly as she pulled on Harry's shoulder, forcibly pulling him down to her own dwarf-like height.

"She may be small, yet she is fierce," remarked Harry dryly, trying his best to finagle his way out of her grasp while hiding the hickey, but Teresa was having none of it. She grabbed a large section of his messy hair, pulling a surprised cry from Harry as she tugged his head painfully down again.

"Doth I spot what I doth think I spot? Is that…_a love bite_?!" Teresa asked with a mischievous glint in her hazel eyes. "From the infamously single Harry Potter?" She gasped in mock horror. Harry rolled his eyes and tried once again to extricate himself from his friend's grasp.

"Why yes Mother Teresa, it is, in fact, a hickey," Harry said, trying and failing to irritate his friend with the nickname, annoyed that his muscles had failed to a girl as tiny as Teresa. "Now will you release my hair from its prison between your fingers?"

Teresa snickered, but let him go, bouncing up and down frenetically on the balls of her feet as Harry tried to smooth down his fringe, ultimately abandoning the effort.

"So who was it?" Teresa said enthusiastically. And loudly. "Was it someone I know? Is she hot? _Did you shag_?!" Harry winced at her volume, and, ignoring her, started walking towards the staff stairs, hoping she would get the message and follow him.

"Hey you, get back here! I'm not done with you, you bloody wanker," Teresa called after him. Message not received. Harry sighed and stopped, motioning for her to follow him, jerking his head towards the staircase. She did, albeit grudgingly based on the agitated eye roll and dirty look she shot him.

As soon as the door to the stairs had shut, Harry jumped on Teresa, wrapping his long arms around her and covering her mouth, effectively silencing her. Her muffled yelling quieted after a moment, and she didn't even bother trying to wriggle out of his grasp. Even _her_ tenacity didn't extend to struggling fruitlessly with a large, muscled ex-quidditch player who had at least 25 centimeters and 45 kilograms on her. Harry grinned innocently down at her, fearlessly meeting her furious blue eyes.

"Now," began Harry casually, "you are not going to yell. You are not going to jump up and down. You are not going to plague me with little taunts and comments, and you are most certainly NOT going to _tell everyone in the whole building_!" he finished, glaring down at her. She stared back up at him, her eyes promising a world of pain when he let her go. "Oh, and I forgot to mention," said Harry, grinning maliciously. "If you do any of those things, any at all, I will hit you with obliviate so powerful you won't even be able to remember who I am." That was rubbish of course, and it seemed Teresa knew it when she stuck out her tongue and licked Harry's hand. Harry glared at her, but didn't let go.

"Alright fine, you called my bluff," Harry admitted, "but I swear to Merlin if you say anything to anyone in the hospital I will hex you," he said, deathly serious, and let her go.

She immediately began to jump up and down and yell, her exclamations of curiosity and cursing of Harry and his friends and whoever had been stupid enough to shag him echoing around in the empty stairwell. Harry rolled his eyes and sent a minor silencing hex her way. Her shouting stopped abruptly and her eyes widened as she felt her tongue fuse to the roof of her mouth. She glared at him accusingly with her hands on her hips. That and her black pixie cut made her look like a temperamental fairy. He chuckled and couldn't resist reaching out to tweak her nose. "Don't worry, that will wear off in about two hours," he called back at her as he climbed the stairs to his first patient. Her muffled shrieks of outrage followed him up to stairs as he chuckled to himself. The hex actually wore off in about ten minutes, but Harry figured that his friend could use with some anxiety. Looking back down to Teresa, he narrowly dodged a bolt of blue light sent his way. Laughing, he called down to her, "Let's meet for coffee after the shift, okay?"

She looked at him suspiciously, but finally rubbed her fingers together in the universal sign for money, looking at him questionably. "Fine, fine I'll cover it and I'll even take the hex off for good measure," he replied, rolling his eyes, but ended the hex with a whispered _finite_.

"You shall pay Harry Potter!" she called up to him as he walked away. "You'd better tell me everything!" Harry smiled, her voice cutting off when he closed the door to the second floor of St Bridgett's. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and walked off to his first patient of the evening.

v

Harry slid into a booth in the hospital's noisy cafeteria and plopped his head onto his arms, uttering a muffled groan.

"That bad huh?" said Teresa from across the booth. She slid a mug across the table, and Harry straightened slowly, moaning as he felt vertebras crack and pop. He sent her a grateful look as the fragrant scent of coffee beans wafted up from mug.

"Worse," he muttered into his cup, taking a sip of the hospital coffee, which was so strong he figured a muggle car could probably run on it just fine. His shift had actually been fine until his final patient; it was then that he figured out why the name Blaise Zabini had been familiar. The arrogant prick had been one of Malfoy's Slytherin cronies back at Hogwarts, and even if Harry had forgotten him, he had most certainly not forgotten Harry. The, unfortunately, attractive man had made Harry's blood boil with snarky comments about everything from Harry's friends to his sex life, making it almost impossible for Harry to work, despite how far he'd come from the raging, hormonal teen he'd been at school who would have yelled at the drop of a hat. It was actually almost disturbing how strong of a negative reaction the man had brought out in Harry, who thought his control over his temper was now nearly perfect. The simmering rage the git had provoked in him made him worry that he wasn't as in control of himself as he'd thought.

He sighed and looked up from his mug into the sympathetic eyes of his coworker. Fortunately, the coffee was already starting to do its work, sending his synapses firing with much greater accuracy than they had been just a few minutes before. "What about you?" he said to Teresa, stretching his arms above his head and shaking them out when he felt his muscles had been suitably loosened.

"Oh the usual," Teresa said brightly. "The old woman in Ward H asked me to pet her pussy for her, and I'm not sure she meant her cat," she said, a shudder of revulsion twitching through her pretty features as Harry snickered. His snickers subsiding into a smile, he regarded Teresa and wondered. She was definitely pretty, beautiful really, with her dainty stature and clear blue eyes. Her angular features and defined cheekbones were coveted by women everywhere, and her feisty personality was the perfect combination of endearing sweetness and fiery humor. So what was it about her - about women in general – that made him unable to imagine spending his life with her?

"What? Have I got something gross on my robes?" Teresa said, interrupting his philosophical contemplation.

"What?" Harry replied absently.

"You were staring at me, have I got coffee on my robes or something?" Teresa said, twisting to inspect her spotless lilac healer's robes.

"Oh! No, no, just lost in my own thoughts," Harry assured her, chuckling silently at her frantic spot-checking contortions.

The medi-witch settled back in her seat, apparently assured of the cleanliness of her attire. "Well anyways, speaking of petting pussies, how did you get that hickey?" asked Teresa suddenly, looking at him expectantly.

Harry's face heated up instantly at her vulgar words. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of a woman's… _nether regions__…_ and replied cautiously, taking time to come up with a suitable lie. "Well, it wasn't anything serious," Harry began, "We're not a couple or anything. We just mutually wanted some fun," he finished, feeling rather pleased with himself. Technically everything he'd said was true. _Just ignore gender specific pronouns, and you__'__re covered,_ he thought to himself.

"What kind of fun?" Teresa asked, eyeing the bruise on his neck. "Seems a bit of an odd sort that would give you a hickey instead of you giving her one," she said, fixing him with a bright stare.

Harry flushed and looked away, running a hand through his hair and mumbling something about kinks and how everyone's different. A memory of the man's lips on his neck flashed his mind and he almost moaned. _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,_ he thought, avoiding Teresa's eyes. He thought suddenly of Ron and Hermione's plea that he come out of the closet. _Should I tell her?_ he wondered, his heart pounding in his ears. His brain hadn't decided yet, however his lips had a different idea.

"Uh, Teresa?" he said awkwardly, unsure of how one goes about telling their friends that they prefer penises to vaginas.

"Yes?" she said, fixing him again with that clear eyed gaze. He squirmed, imagining he could feel the pressure of her eyes on him like two spotlights from one of those interrogation scenes in bad muggle crime shows.

"I, uh…I," he began. "Uh, I told her I'd keep it a secret," he finished lamely, unable to meet her eyes. It almost seemed to him that she was disappointed in him, as if she knew he had chickened out. You know what, no. Harry thought to himself._ I__'__m a fucking Gryffindor, I don__'__t let my secrets define me._ He sat up straighter in his seat.

"Except there's one thing," he said looking Teresa straight in the eye. "He's not a girl." Harry's face burned, but he refused to look away as Teresa's eyes widened and her mouth formed a small o shape. She wouldn't look at him for a moment, and Harry's heart started to pound. Had he made the wrong decision? Would she hate him?

"Fuck, I shouldn't have said anything, I knew I shouldn't have said anything," he groaned desolately, putting his head in his hands miserably. He peeked at Teresa tentatively through his fingers. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked quietly.

Teresa blinked and looked at him for a moment before jumping straight into a rant that would rival any howler. "Why didn't you tell me?! This is a big thing! All this time I've been trying to set you up with girls and I wasn't even looking at the right gender! No wonder you were so uninterested! Damn!" Harry stared at her in confusion as she continued to rant at his lack of insight as to how she could help him. He was still staring at her when he realized she was looking at him, her face flushed, expectantly.

"So you're not mad at me?" he murmured quietly, feeling very child-like.

Teresa snorted. "Of course I'm fucking mad at you!" she practically screeched. Harry was at that moment incredibly grateful for the loud volume of the cafeteria. "But… not because you're gay," she said, quieting. Harry looked up into strong blue eyes as he felt the pressure a small hand on his. "I could never be mad at you because you're gay, Harry," she said softly. "It doesn't matter if you like guys or if you like girls. If anyone tries to give you a hard time about it, they're not even worthy enough to look at you, let alone judge you."

Harry looked into her familiar face across the table and saw only sincerity there. His eyes prickled, and he was surprised and embarrassed to feel his eyes start to fill. "Thank you," he whispered. A solitary tear fell and trailed down his face before he could stop it. He laughed shakily and wiped at it. "Sorry about that," he said gesturing in embarrassment to his face. "It's just…well you're the first person I've told besides my two best friends from school, and I always felt like they knew before I did anyways, and…"he trailed off. "I'm really glad you don't hate me," he finished, smiling weakly at Teresa, whose eyes were suspiciously shimmery.

"I feel…honored…that you would tell me first, even if I suppose you didn't have much choice," said Teresa, blinking rapidly. She cleared her throat and looked back at him.

"Thank you for telling me. I know it had to have taken a lot of courage," she said sincerely.

Harry smiled in sheer relief that he had told someone and that someone didn't hate him. In fact, that someone seemed to be incredibly supportive. He grinned widely, feeling as though a small chip of the weight on his shoulders that his sexuality had created had broken away. There was no place to go from there but up.

Teresa smiled at him, although it seemed a bit mischievous. Harry smiled back cautiously. "So now that we know the gender of your little tryst companion, you can tell me everything about your little encounter!" she exclaimed happily.

"Do I have to?" Harry groaned. She just looked at him expectantly with her chin resting on her hand, smiling. Harry groaned again, but when he began to talk, he was smiling. He supposed a little less secrecy was a small price to pay to have friends as good as his.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello People that deign to read my writing! First off, thank you so much for those of you that have followed this and left reviews.**

** Unfortunately after this week I won't be able to update as fast because break was all of the last two weeks and school starts again tomorrow, so I'm sort of screwed for writing time. **

**Please, please, please give me reviews! This is my first story on here and I'm really looking for feed back. **

**Also sorry about the slightly information-y feel of these past two chapters, I promise it gets more interesting! This is just important stuff for the plot depth *gasp* the plot thickens!**

**V**

As Harry walked out St Bridgett's doors from the clinically lit interior to the soft darkness of the outside, he made the spur-of-the-moment decision to walk home instead of apparating. On a night like this, how could he not? A smile lingered on his lips as he leaned his head back to watch the stars, their twinkling light reminiscent of fireflies in the velvet sky. While he had been at work, the clouds had been swept away along with the oppressive heat, leaving a clean sort of feeling in the air as though someone had swept away all the debris. A cool breeze ruffled his hair as he meandered his way through the botanical gardens that surrounded the hospital.

The flowers were in full bloom this time of year, their brilliant colors muted in the darkness. Brushing his fingers along the petals of each passing blossom, Harry shivered in delight at the silky feeling of the leaves brushing his arms. Each blossom had a different texture; some smooth and fine. Others felt fuzzy and somehow… happy. The crickets were chirping peacefully, their melodious strains drifting over the peaceful garden. Harry imagined he could see the musical lines drift over his head before swirling into the heavens above him. He couldn't remember a day this beautiful since Hogwarts.

Harry's smile turned bittersweet as he thought back to his happier days at school. Gravel crunching under his feet, he recalled the cheerful bustle of the great hall during meal times, the faces of his friends around him, laughing and talking in the center courtyard as they relaxed on a warm spring day, the scent of new parchment….all of those things he missed. He tried not to think of the things he didn't miss, but no matter how much he tried to avoid the black-tinged memories, inevitably a few snuck in. His fallout with Ron in fourth year, Umbridge in fifth year, Dumbledore's death in sixth year- Harry stopped for a bit on that memory, honoring the man in the serene silence of the night. Though slightly less willingly, he honored Professor Snape as well. As much as he had disliked the man, he was worth remembering. He paused for a moment, thinking of Malfoy.

His relationship with the Slytherin had always been…odd, to say the least. For years they had been sworn enemies, the rivalry often turning from malicious to downright violent. Although the blond boy had never openly disobeyed his father or his Lord, Harry recalled the shaking of Malfoy's wand as he pointed it at Dumbledore on the night of his death, as well as the sickly pale cast his features had acquired. Although he had thought it before, Harry wondered again if Malfoy had ever actually _wanted_ to follow his father's footsteps and become a Death Eater, or if Lucius had forced him to take the mark.

His expression darkened a bit as his thoughts turned to seventh year Malfoy. Harry's interaction with him had changed for good that year, starting with the fiend fire. He would never know what it was that caused him to save his arch-enemy; not only his enemy, but a marked Death Eater. He unconsciously fingered his ribs as he remembered the shaking boy's arms around him on the broom, face pressed into his shoulder. Things had only gotten stranger from there. There were no more fights, but an uneasy civility that lasted until Harry did something he'd never forget…

When the war was finally declared over, the four houses had decided unanimously that something was needed to take everyone's minds off the grief and sorrow of the war and focus on the fact that Voldemort was gone. In the first united effort of all four houses in recorded history, they pulled together a tremendous party in hopes of allowing the students to forget their losses and celebrate, if only just for a little while. A band was hired, and the newly repaired great hall was transformed into something resembling a swanky, high-end club, complete with a fully functioning bar that the new Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, had kindly turned a blind eye to. There Harry had tried to drown his sorrows in high quality bourbon and Firewhiskey. Sometime during the night, Malfoy had appeared in the seat next to him, his blonde hair shining dully in the pulsing lights of the club.

_Harry looked blearily to his right as he dimly recognized the squeak of a chair being pulled up. Although he thought they were snogging in a far off corner of the club, he expected to see Ron and Hermione; however, he was barely surprised to see an angular face surrounded by what looked to Harry, in his drunken state, like a halo of white-blonde hair. At that point his mind was too fuzzy with drink to register anything other than vague curiosity as to why Malfoy was sitting next to him._

_"__Malfoy," he slurred._

_"__Potter," Malfoy sighed, and motioned to the Nymph bartender, who giggled and practically shimmied over with a shot of vodka. _

_Malfoy downed the shot and slammed the glass down onto the bar, making Harry snorted._

_"__What's funny?" the Slytherin inquired with raised eyebrows._

_"__You," said Harry, and began to giggle uncontrollably in his drunkenness. Malfoy just stared at him and Harry laughed harder, but endeavored to explain his train of thought._

_"__Vodka is such a b-blue blood drink," gasped Harry, tripping a bit over his words before dissolving back into laughter. "And you just slammed the glass back…onto the bar like it had done you personal wrong, and it was a glass that was s-served to you by a nymph who was trying to flirt. So much for – hic – dignity and pride and that load of pureblood bollocks."_

_With that, Harry stood up, or tried to, as the world pitched and he stumbled. The floor was rushing up to meet him when, suddenly, he was jerked upwards by a vise-like grip around his bicep. Startled, he looked down at his arm to see pale fingers in a white-knuckled grip. He followed the fingers to an arm, and the arm to a smirking Draco Malfoy. _

_"__Drink a bit much there, did we Potter?" he sneered, although it was obvious the blond wasn't exactly the picture of sobriety. _

_"__Yeah, I suspect I did," Harry muttered, the near fall shocking him into enough awareness to be slightly embarrassed by having to be rescued by Malfoy. He took another experimental step and almost fell again as his knees buckled, only supported by Malfoy's hand remaining in its tight grip around his arm._

_"__Whoa there Potter, don't want our world's savior to survive Voldemort just to be offed by a drunken fall," he said dryly, pulling Harry back to his feet._

_Harry's balance was failing and with a muttered "Fuck," he wrapped an arm around the blond's waist, feeling the other boy stiffen at the touch. _

_"__Sorry," he muttered, but didn't remove his arm. "Thought I was gonna fall over,"_

_"__Merlin knows we couldn't have that," the other boy muttered, sounding irked, but Harry felt the tension leech out of his posture. In fact, it seemed to Harry that the blond had almost melted into the touch, as though he was drawn to it. _

_"__I suppose I'm now responsible with leading the drunken boy hero back to his dorm?" Malfoy commented sarcastically._

_"__No, I'm fine, really," Harry protested, but made no move to leave._

_"__Oh sure, you're so fine that you almost hit the floor a moment ago," the Slytherin sneered, and hoisted Harry's shorter frame so that it was supported by his larger one. _

_"__Come on, I'll take you," he said with a long-suffering sigh._

_Harry knew the two of them made an odd pairing as they half-walked, half-trudged across the club scene, the ex Death Eater supporting the hailed hero of the Wizarding World. They attracted a fair amount of stares that Harry studiously ignored. One of Harry's arms was still looped around Malfoy's waist for support, and as they walked Harry could feel the _flex, relax, flex, relax _of the Slytherin Seeker's lean muscles. Becoming mesmerized by the rhythm of the finely honed body, Harry only dimly registered that they had left the hall and were walking alone down the stone corridor. The couple walked through a patch of moonlight streaming in through one of the corridor's many leaded windows. On impulse, Harry jolted them around to stop at the window, earning a surprised chuff from Malfoy. _

_"__Potter, what are-"_

_"__Shh." _

_Harry put a finger over Malfoy's lips, effectively silencing the other boy. He noticed off-handedly that his lips were soft and ever so slightly chapped from the alcohol. The blonde removed Harry's hand from his face, muttering obscenities, but when he placed it on the moonlight drenched sill, he left his own, paler hand on top of it. _

_Harry glanced up at the blond, who stared detachedly back, as if daring him to say anything. With a dazzling grin, Harry turned his attention back to the window. Hyperaware of Malfoy's fingers slowly stroking his knuckles, he peered through the bubbled glass, sighing contentedly. The moon shone off the lake and lights shone from the windows of Hagrid's cottage, a cheery reminder of times long past when he, Hermione, and Ron used to sneak out to visit him. How things had changed. Harry leaned his head against the taller blonde's shoulder, and tilted his head up to look at the other boy. The silvery light reflected in the other boy's grey eyes, making them gleam like silver sickles. Harry was almost lost in their depths…he hesitated for a moment before he threw caution to the wind and pressed a soft kiss to Malfoy's lips. _

_Leaning back to observe the shocked blonde, Harry smiled softly and turned away. He suddenly felt the questioning pressure of a nervous hand on his neck. He looked back at the Slytherin and time seemed to stop. Their two gazes, grey and green, collided and held for what seemed like an eternity. The grey eyes darkened and Harry suppressed a shiver of desire...he could almost feel the sparks flying between them. The blonde finally broke the gaze by crashing his mouth down on Harry's with a desperate groan. They wrapped their arms around each other and kissed passionately and desperately, each grappling for control. Neither could think straight, both from the headiness of lust and the headiness of alcohol. It was a battle, a raging, electric battle for dominance as hips thrust against hips, and tongues danced and fought…_

Harry's reverie was broken by the screech of an owl overhead. Blinking the last strands of memory away, feeling almost as though he were still under the influence of that same alcohol he had been all those years ago, he stuck his arm out for the unfamiliar owl to land on. Adjusting to the weight of the heavy bird, he took envelope from between the bird's claws. He stroked the fierce bird gently behind the ears, and glanced at the address on the envelope before murmuring "No reply."

The owl screeched again and took off into the night. Harry regarded the plain white envelope with interest. The address on the front told him it was from the same sex bar he'd visited earlier that day. He ripped into the letter eagerly, grinning as he read the words printed on the stationary.

He was meeting with his mystery man again.

Whistling softly, he stuck the envelope in his pocket, all thoughts of Draco Malfoy forgotten.

**v**

Draco's closed eyelids were illuminated by the soft morning light streaming into his bedroom. Stirring softly, he groaned lightly and opened his eyes, blinking at the sudden influx of sun. He leaned back on his pillow and sighed contentedly. He had another visit with his mystery man today! Ever since he had received the letter from the bar confirming the meeting, he couldn't get the man out of his head. He thought of his soft noises of pleasure and the way his hips had risen up to meet his, remembering the rushed passion for what seemed like the hundredth time that week. His cock rose in appreciation, as it had been doing all week at the slightest provocation. Draco Malfoy was not a patient man, and this waiting was fraying his last nerves and leaving him a quivering ball of sexual tension, the like of which he hadn't felt since his teenage years.

Rolling out of bed, he swept over to the antique dresser across from his bed. Opening one of the drawers, he pulled out parchment and a quill. He wrote a quick letter to Blaise, suggesting a brunch meeting with Pansy. He knew that with what he had planned for the night, he'd never be able to concentrate at work, and besides, it had been too long since they'd talked. After all, they were the only friends from Hogwarts who had accepted his new persona. He smiled grimly to himself; Slytherins were such backstabbing bastards.

Unlocking Don Juan's cage, he opened the window to send the pure-black owl on his way to intercept his friend. He sucked in a deep breath of the fresh air, and padded into the bathroom to get ready, anticipating a reply when he got out of the shower.

An hour and an ungodly amount of primping and styling later, Draco, clad in grey trousers and a white designer button down that had cost him 250 muggle pounds, had received a reply from Blaise saying that he and Pansy would meet him at their favorite breakfast restaurant, Bridges. He stepped outside his home into the warm sunshine, and disappeared with the familiar pop of apparation.

He reappeared outside of Bridges, almost running into a pot of blooming begonias. He strode through the doors into the light-filled interior. Glancing around the restaurant, he spotted Pansy and Blaise sitting in a booth in the far corner, already in what appeared to be a rather heated argument. Nodding to the greeter, he swept through the tables to join the pair.

"-not going to make that successfully. There's no way!" Pansy spoke indignantly.

"Well, considering I've made it before, I obviously can," Blaise replied, regarding his nails indifferently.

"Made what before?" Draco inquired, sliding smoothly into the booth next to Pansy; he knew his sexuality made Blaise slightly uncomfortable with close proximity.

"Viva Draconia!" Pansy practically spit, referring to a potion that allowed its drinker to know exactly what they wanted from life and how to go about getting it."There is no possible way that git made such a complicated potion. It's a load of bollocks."

"I did," Blaise drawled. "If it hadn't fallen and exploded, sending me to the hospital with broken bones I might add, I'd have it here. Or maybe I wouldn't, considering drinking it probably would have made me realize how stupid it is I still talk to you," he retorted, glaring at the brunette.

"Come on Draco," Pansy said, facing the master potions brewer. "_You_ know that potion is too complicated for a berk like Blaise."

Draco frowned lightly. The potion was fairly complicated, but remembering Potions with Professor Snape, he recalled that Blaise was fairly handy with a cauldron.

"I don't know Pansy," he replied. "He could have, if he actually concentrated for once, instead of fantasizing about hot women he'll never have," he put a finger on his chin in a feigned thinking expression. "Or maybe men, you never know what goes on in that dirty little mind of his."

Draco smirked as Blaise flushed angrily, and Pansy laughed. He may no longer be at Hogwarts, but the taunting Slytherin still appeared.

"At least I don't actually fuck them, you nancy," Blaise muttered, his high cheek bones still slashed with red.

"At least he gets to fuck someone," Pansy giggled, making Blaise blush further. He opened his mouth to retort, but Draco cut him off deftly.

"So, you were in the hospital?" he asked Blaise, redirecting the conversation to slightly less hostile ground.

"Yes," Pansy said for him. "His cat knocked his potion over!" she burst into peals of laughter, and Draco had to join her. The mental image of Blaise's face when he realized it was his beloved "Prince Fuzzles" that had knocked over his slaved-over potion was simply too much.

"Yes," Blaise snapped. "I broke two ribs and my wrist. Oh, and guess who my healer was," he said, looking across at the two expectantly.

Draco and Pansy exchanged a look and shrugged simultaneously.

"Potter," Blaise replied, sitting back in the booth, looking smug.

Draco and Pansy stared at him.

"What?" Draco said blankly.

"Potter," Blaise said, speaking slowly, drawing out the first syllable.

"We get that," Draco snapped, feeling suddenly irritable. "When the fuck did Potter become a healer?"

"Who the hell knows?" Blaise said, looking bored. "All I know was that he's still just as easy to piss off now as he was back at Hogwarts."

Pansy sent a wide-eyed look towards Draco. She looked like she expected him to leap up from the table and demand to know where his long lost lover was or something equally ridiculous. She acted this way every time Potter's name was mentioned; he had regretted telling her about his little make-out session with the green-eyed boy wonder as soon as the words had been out of his mouth. She'd automatically assumed that he was secretly pining away for the Gryffindor, and obviously her romanticized opinion had not changed. Draco rolled his eyes at her; women were so ridiculously sappy sometimes.

"How'd you find that out, praytell?" Draco drawled, although he could clearly picture the scene in his head; Potter practically shaking with anger as he tried to administer skelegrow to his obstinate and taunting patient, those green eyes glittering dangerously at each jab and infuriating insult that his friend was so talented at creating.

"Oh I just slapped him around a little bit," Blaise smirked. "Figuratively of course, considering my wrist was broken." He looked thoughtful for a moment, before adding, "It was odd; Potter didn't seem to be ready to throw any jinxes at me. He was just pissed," he frowned. "Not as much fun now that I think about it."

Their conversation was interrupted by the waiter, coming to take their order, and Pansy and Blaise's voices faded into the background as Draco considered what the man across from him had said. Potter hadn't been as easily provoked? That was interesting; it seemed the man had changed. In retrospect, it seemed obvious to Draco that he would have changed; it had been almost 8 years since he had last seen Potter. Despite this and sort of vaguely following his activities in the Prophet, Draco's mind's eye view of him had stayed the same. Thinking about how much he himself had changed, he couldn't help but wonder what his school rival was like now.

Draco was pulled back to the present by the succulent smell of breakfast food. He immersed himself back into the conversation with his friends as he ate; after all, it had already been 8 years since he'd had any interaction with him at all. Maybe the raven haired blighter had forgotten all about him! Hell if he knew. Thoughts of Potter could wait just a bit longer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys sorry about the wait, the musical rehearsal schedule is insane and I literally sat down and wrote this today. Thanks so much for all the reviews! Keep them coming! Sorry this chapter is so short but...sex. Also time is hard to come by like I said so...Enjoy the fruits of my labor. **

"Please!" Harry gasped out, his back pressed against the cool wall of the room he had occupied a mere week earlier.

Now that he was back, it was like he hadn't felt this way in years; hard, sweaty, and desperate as hell. His back arched against the wall, the man's strong arms pinning him so he couldn't move. He'd walked into the room having already been charm blind-folded, being told his "partner" would be waiting for him. The second he'd opened the door, he'd been accosted by a hot, hungry mouth accompanied by a demanding tongue and shoved violently against the wall, any possible awkwardness bypassed immediately. He wriggled against the iron grip as the taller man shifted his thigh, swiftly placing it between Harry's legs. Harry groaned as the leg shoved against his almost painfully hard cock.

"Fuck," he whispered, leaning his head back against the wall.

His mystery man laughed throatily. "No, not yet," he growled against Harry's neck. "I get to punish you first."

** v**

Draco Malfoy pressed his mouth onto the man's welcoming, but surprised lips and was treated to a delicate moan. As soon as he had heard the door open, he had jumped the other man, shoving his muscular frame into the wall with a resounding thud. Shoving his thigh between his stranger's legs, he pressed against the hardness in the other man's jeans, taking possession and control.

"Fuck," the silhouette muttered, his neck a smooth outline that Draco just couldn't resist. He kissed and nipped the delicate skin.

Draco chuckled, his arousal making his face deeper and huskier. "No, not yet," he growled. "I get to punish you first."

The other man gasped, although it wasn't a feminine sound. It was a deep, masculine gasp that sent the blood rushing south as the blond shivered, narrowly avoided moaning himself.

He turned his attention back the other man's graceful neck. He nipped and sucked until he heard the object of his attention's cry out sharply. He smiled; that hickey would last longer than the first, he was sure of it. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to leave a tangible mark so the rest of the world would know that he had been there, and he alone. He wanted to possess this man in a way he hadn't wanted to since Potter, although he tried not to think about that.

"Watch it with those – ah! – hickeys," the smaller man gasped breathlessly, the column of his throat jumping against Draco's mouth with each breath. "My friend had a – fuck! – field day with the last one."

With a sound from deep in his throat, Draco pulled back from the wall and shoved his stranger down onto the bed, placing his knee against the other's back.

"I'll do what I want with you, understand?" he commented casually, trying to lean over the bite the man's ear. Unfortunately, his tie got in the way, and he growled, annoyed at anything that got in his way. He ripped it off, planning to throw it away, but he stopped halfway through the motion, and grinned maniacally.

"Put your hands behind your back," he commanded. The man beneath him did so without any complaint. Within seconds, Draco had the tie securely knotted around the other's wrists, effectively binding them together. Slipping his hands beneath the thin cotton of the man's shirt, he flipped him over gently. He slid his hands slowly up the muscular torso, admiring the hard planes with his fingers and enjoying the tortured mewls the other man seemed to be making unconsciously as he pressed his body into Draco's seeking fingers.

"Doesn't anyone ever do this for you?" Draco teased gently. A shudder ran through the torso under his fingers. "Love you, touch you, make you feel alive?" He said the last one in a whisper, bringing his face down towards the other man's. Gazing down at the silhouette, he wished adamantly that he could see the face inches beneath his. He could imagine the mouth hanging open in ecstasy, the long lashes against high cheekbones as the man closed his eyes against the influx of sensation…Draco leaned down and kissed that mouth, his body flush against the athlete beneath him.

His fingers ripped carefully through the thin cotton barrier between them, and Draco pulled that and his own shirt off, never breaking the kiss. He groaned and kissed him with abandon, fingers still exploring the new, yet somehow familiar, terrain of the man's body. Their teeth hit as Draco deepened the kiss, tongues dancing together. He shoved his pants off in one fluid motion, and spelled his stranger's off. He couldn't get enough skin, mouth, everything. Their cocks rubbed together, the skin against skin heavenly as he felt the other man's moans against his mouth. Fuck! He had to stop now before he came. He broke off the kiss, panting heavily, before standing up sharply, pulling the other man with him.

He forced the other man down to his knees in front of him, his hands on either side of the smaller man's head. His fingers met cold metal, and he realized his stranger wore glasses. For some reason this made him stop for a moment, his fingers caressing the thin frames. He ignored the niggling thought in the back of his head and pulled the glasses off, careful not to break them, and threw them onto the bed. Draco roughly dragged the other man back in front of him, positioning him before his erect cock.

"Suck," he commanded. The other man stared at him, frozen for a moment, before giving Draco what seemed to be a wicked smile, and engulfed his shaft in his hot mouth.

"Holy Fuck," he whispered, throwing his head back. There was a faint buzzing in his ears that only intensified as the sensations became more and more pronounced. Suddenly the feeling intensified and Draco let out a moan before he could stop himself. What the fuck? The other man was humming deep in his throat as he took Draco's shaft to the hilt, and the feeling was incredible. Draco groaned. This "punishment" was backfiring.

"Stop," he gasped out, barely able to even be heard, let alone sound commanding. The man sat back on his heels, releasing Draco's shaft with an audible pop.

"Don't want me to come after you, hm?" the man said huskily, amusement tingeing his bedroom voice.

The sex in that voice sent a shiver down his spine directly to his aching cock. This spurred him into action, and in seconds the man was back on the bed, arse up, in front of Draco.

"Oh I'm not gonna come first," he growled harshly, fisting the other man's dripping cock, pulling his arse up further to give Draco better access.

"I'm gonna spank you, and then I'm gonna fuck you," he drawled, trailing his lips against the shaking expanse of back. Without warning, he reared back and slapped him hard on the arse, leaving his hand ringing and his lips turned up, reveling in the rush and the red mark he had left. The other man let out a cry, though from pleasure or pain it was hard to tell. Draco spanked him again, and again, until he couldn't take it anymore and, shaking, spelled oil into his hand and plunged deep into the other man's ass. His stranger cried out unintelligibly, and he felt the other man seize beneath him in an uncontrollable climax. He only had to thrust hard a few more times before he felt the force of his own orgasm crest. Draco swayed, exhausted, before collapsing on the other man's back and letting the soothing darkness of sleep take him.

** v**

Draco hummed contentedly. He was warm. Very warm. And his pillow was snoring slightly, making adorable little rasping noises. He tried to pry his eyelids open, but it felt as though they had lead weights attached to them. He smiled, and curled in closer to the source of body heat underneath him, wrapping his arms around the man. He could smell the sweat and sex on the man's skin, with a hint of pine underneath. _I'll get up in a moment. I just want to keep my eyes closed a bit longer. Just a…little bit…longer…._

**v**

Harry awoke to the weight of another man on top of him, and a pair of arms wrapped around him. He blinked a few times, wondering why his vision wasn't focusing, before rolling his eyes at his own stupidity. Of course the blind fold spell was still in effect, they were both still in the room. Relaxing under the man's dead weight, he breathed deeply and smiled contentedly. The sex had been incredible…again. In fact, this time even more so…he would never have imagined that spanking could have turned him on as much as it did. He recalled the sharp, buzzing pain on his arse, the feeling of being so utterly controlled…what the fuck was wrong with him? He'd been controlled all his life, by the Dursleys, by Hogwarts, by Voldemort…by Malfoy. He grimaced as he thought of some of the things he stooped to in the name of revenge against the blond git…stalking him throughout sixth year, cursing him with _sectumspera. _Drinking polyjuice potion and knocking out Crabbe and Goyle. The blond had brought out all the bad qualities in Harry. Jesus, this needed to sop; he'd thought about the idiot more often in the past few days than he had the last few _years._ The green-eyed heroine smiled, glancing towards the man resting on his back. At least he didn't need to worry about the Slytherin anymore; he had someone who could fulfill his needs better than that one night ever had.

Harry squirmed. His leg was falling asleep, and he still had dinner with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny that night. He sighed; he hated to disturb the lithe body on top of him, but he really needed to leave. Harry cast a furtive glance at the sleeping form over his shoulder and began to inch his way out from underneath him. Slowly but surely, he managed to extricate himself from the flesh cocoon and rolled off the bed. He waited, agonizing, sure the other man was going to wake.

"Oh thank Merlin," Harry muttered when the man sighed and rolled over on the bed, evidently still asleep. Harry studied the inert form; he looked somehow…bereft without Harry's body underneath his, his arms stretched out as though searching for the warmth he had taken with him. Harry's lips quirked upward. This man seemed so different from the dominating sexual inferno that Harry had come to know. He pulled on his clothes, mending his ripped shirt, and grabbed his glasses. He stopped at the door, flicking stray hair from his eyes, sending one lingering glance over the peaceful form on the bed. He shut the door softly, cutting off his view, and left quietly, meandering through the hallways with a soft grin lighting up his features.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys! i've gotten a few new reviews, but not as many as I'd hoped! I know it's work, but it would really mean a lot to me if you could just take a few minutes to tell me what you did or didn't like about the story. Also you might notice i've added another ship into the story. Muahhahaha so shipful. If you have any additional ships that you think I should put in, leave them in a review *hint hint* or a message for me. Thanks guys!**

Hermione Granger slid her apron, which read _Kiss my Wand_, carefully over her head of voluminous curls to avoid getting the buckle snagged in the nest of hair. She hung the apron on a peg in the cozy kitchen, calling to her husband, sister-in-law, and best friend to come to the dinner table. The sound of muffled thumps and curses greeted her announcement. Judging from the noise, they were coming from Ron's "man-cave" that was filled to the brim with everything a male wizard might ever want. Quidditch posters blanketed the walls, and a TV that Harry had spelled to show Quidditch matches and given Ron for his birthday took up one corner. Unfortunately, every other square inch of the room was occupied with over-stuffed, masculine furniture. Hermione laughed inwardly at the picture of Harry and Ginny tripping over ottomans and couches as they tried to navigate their way through the room.

All the dishes were already on the table when the bumbling trio finally poured into the room, and Hermione had to smile at the matching fiery sheen glinting off of Ginny and Ron's heads. She had evidently interrupted a conversation on politics judging from the enraged look on Ginny's face.

"Don't you think there should be some sort of law against it?!" Ginny fired out, red hair swinging like a curtain of beads around her pale, heart-shaped face. Hermione pinched herself to keep from staring, her heart beating a familiar tattoo against her ribcage. She had known nothing would come from that little crush for ages. She smiled sardonically, glancing at her husband. She must just have a thing for Weasleys.

"Of course not!" Her brother spat back, equally frenetic in his objections. "That is completely unfair to every single one of them. They're not so different from us you know."

Hermione glanced around the table. Harry looked incredibly uncomfortable, drumming his fingers against the table between the two siblings, looking everywhere but the table. Hermione frowned, cocking her head to the side. What could they possibly be arguing about?

"It's disgusting!" Ginny practically shrieked. "They are abominations."

"What?" Ron yelled back. "They live and love just like the rest of us. Why should there be a law against it?"

Hermione's heart stuttered a beat, and her face became one of abject horror. What else could they be talking about except homosexual marriage? No wonder Harry looked so uncomfortable; how terrible that must be for him to listen to!

"Hermione," Ron said, still glaring at his sister. "You settle this for us."

"S-settle what for you?" Hermione stuttered, trying her best to look like she hadn't just learned her gay best friend's ex-girlfriend and her own desperate little crush was adamantly anti-homosexual.

"Don't you think that Jarveys should be forced to mate in the private of their owner's yard?" Ginny said, her face turning an interesting puce-like shade. "I saw an owner allowing his two pet Jarveys….fornicate…right in the middle of the street!" she shuddered delicately.

Hermione burst out laughing. She couldn't help it. It was deep belly laughter that had all of the occupants of the table staring at her like she'd announced she had burned a book, but the relief and hilarity of the situation had left her with no control.

Ron stared at her with a bemused expression. "Am I missing something?" he said blankly.

Hermione took a deep, gulping breath as she recovered from her laughing fit. "No, not really," she gasped. "Definitely agree with you Ginny. I can imagine that sight would remain burned on the inside of your eyelids for quite a long time," she managed to say before lapsing into giggles once again.

"Oooookay," said Harry slowly, raising a dark eyebrow. "Now that politics are over with, can we eat?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes of course," replied Hermione, gesturing weakly with her wand. The spoons flew in from the kitchen and proceeded to serve everyone over-enthusiastically.

"Your spoons remind me of your mum," Harry complained to Ron, glaring good-naturedly at the mound of food piled before him. "No matter how much I ate, I was always too thin."

"That's mum for yah, alright," Ron grinned, digging into his dinner. Soon everyone had been served, and the room was filled with the clink of silverware and the hum of conversation. Hermione noted that despite Harry's complaints, he polished off his dinner with remarkable speed, and was returning for seconds. She also noted that he looked incredibly relaxed, as though someone had given him a deep tissue massage, and he was smiling with incredible regularity for the stoic "Boy who Lived." She was still contemplating the meaning of this when her attention was wrenched back into the conversation when she heard the mention of work.

"So, Ginny, what have you been doing with yourself lately?" Hermione asked attentively.

"Well, I've been volunteering a lot at the local animal humane society and gardens, and I just received a full time job at the home for retired witches and wizards by Harry's hospital!" Ginny grinned, looking radiantly happy.

Harry smiled at her fondly, telling her she should drop by sometime to say hello. Hermione wondered for the umpteenth time how Harry had broken up with Ginny while still managing to keep their friendship intact and strong. It was obvious that Ginny had been absolutely disconsolate, and Harry hadn't exactly been the most sensitive as a teenager. She also wondered how he had managed to keep his…gay-ness, for lack of a better word, hidden from the perceptive girl.

"What about you Harry? What have you been up to?" Ginny asked the raven-haired man, who adopted a deer-caught-in-the-headlights sort of expression.

"Um…well…I…" he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, running his fingers through his already messy hair. "I saw Blaise Zabini the other day," he said, seeming almost triumphant with this response.

Hermione almost laughed when she realized it was because he had been searching for something to say that hadn't pertained to his journey to the sex bar. Speaking of which, she still didn't know how that had gone…

"That blighter that hung around with Malfoy and Pansy?" Ron said, his expression twisting into a grimace. "What did that moron do to put himself in the hospital?" he asked, grimacing. I hope it was serious," he added as an afterthought.

"Ron!" Hermione reprimanded, slapping him playfully on the arm. "Now that's not nice at all."

"Neither is he!" he retorted, rubbing his arm in mock pain. He stuck his tongue out at her, and she gave him a little finger wave, grinning.

"Oh, he wasn't too bad, all things considering," Harry grinned, watching their banter. "He didn't try to hex me or anything, he was just the same kind of baiting prick he was back in school."

"Was he hot?" Ginny mused absently.

"How should I know?" Harry said, too defensively, just as Ron exclaimed "Ginny!" sending her a disgusted glare.

"What?" said Ginny innocently. "I'm a hot blooded female. I'm just curious," she turned back to Harry, effectively ignoring Ron's exclamations about how his little sister should not be inquiring about the attractiveness of an enemy. "So was he?" she demanded, arching a golden eyebrow playfully.

"How should I know?" Harry repeated, his expression guarded.

"You should know because you're gay, Harry, obviously," said Ginny, rolling her eyes. The whole table fell silent, Ron, Harry, and Hermione all staring at her.

"What?" said Ginny, oblivious to Harry's silent horror.

"How…?" Hermione began, but couldn't seem to finish.

"How the fuck did you know?" Harry finished, staring at her, eyes wide.

Ginny snorted. "Well it's rather obvious, isn't it?" she said, glancing around the table. "Didn't you guess?" she said, raising her hands in an inquiring gesture towards the couple seated at the table.

"Well…No," replied Ron, shaking his head slowly. "He had to tell us, and I have to say, we flipped shit," he said, glancing at his best mate, who didn't seem to have moved since he had spoken. A muscle was ticking dangerously in his clenched jaw.

"Well, I suppose you two never did have the "failed relationship" part of the story to help you put together the pieces," Ginny mused. "I mean, it's not like Harry was a bad kisser – in fact he was a rather good one," she added, looking thoughtful.

Ron made an uncomfortable groaning noise from the back of his throat. "I mean there just wasn't…the enthusiasm that I'd expect from a horny teenager, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, I know what you mean," Hermione muttered, thinking of Ron's insatiable appetites at the beginning of their relationship. Ron smiled sheepishly at her, guessing her thoughts.

"Also, I saw him staring at Seamus's ass a few too many times to be innocent," she added. Harry started muttering indignantly. "Don't bother denying it," Ginny grinned, wagging her finger at Harry. "You did, and you know it."

Harry flipped her off, much to her apparent amusement.

"You don't think it's terribly obvious, though, do you?" Hermione asked gently, concerned for the mental well being of her friend. She could imagine the self questioning thoughts running through his head right now.

"Well…to me it was," Ginny said, propping her chin in her hands. Hermione's heart sank. "But if you're asking if he acts like a flamer? Then no, absolutely not. If I didn't know him as well I do, I would never have guessed."

"Well, now that we all know," Hermione said, grinning an uncharacteristically evil grin, "Harry can tell us all about his adventures with his mystery man, can't you Harry?"

"Oh? Mystery man?" said Ginny, drawing a crude image in the air with her wand. Ron made a choking sound, and Harry just stared at Hermione. She could practically feel the "how could you do this to me" rolling off of him in waves. She studiously ignored it, turning to Ginny to explain.

"Well, I made him promise to stop by this sex bar that specializes in anonymous witch and wizard hookups, and based on his appetite and the post-coital glow I can practically feel radiating off of him today, I'm assuming that he stopped by again today," Hermione explained, winking at Harry's mortified face.

"Ooooh, I see!" grinned Ginny. "So do tell us about this "mystery man"," she said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively at Harry.

"I regret every saying anything to you about this," muttered Harry, glaring half-heartedly at Hermione, who smiled back innocently.

"Uh, maybe we should let Harry decide on his own whether or not to tell us," her husband began, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Hermione glared at him, effectively shutting off his argument, and looked expectantly back at Harry. Harry sighed, apparently resigning himself to his fate.

"Well, what do you want to know?" he said, looking up at the ceiling.

"Everything," declared the red-headed witch decidedly. Hermione giggled, and Ron and Harry rolled their eyes simultaneously.

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific than that," Harry said dryly, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" said Hermione, taking pity on her friend.

"That's a very good place to start," said Harry. Hermione smiled at the muggle reference.

"Weeeeelll, when I showed up, I almost didn't go in," Harry admitted, smiling wryly. "It looks like a muggle strip joint, and the pounding of the music is unbearable. I was also incredibly nervous. Who the fuck goes to a service to find them a fuck-buddy?"

"The _perfect_ fuck-buddy," Ron interjected.

"Yes Ron, the _perfect_ fuck-buddy," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "Anyways, I dunno, it just felt sort of desperate and creepy; but, I figured I'd give it a shot. Besides, Hermione would have skinned me if I'd told her I'd broken my promise," he said, shrugging.

"Wait, so how does this work exactly?" said Ginny, staring raptly at Harry as though he was telling her how to rid fornicating Jarveys from the streets, rather than just relaying a story.

"He's getting there," Hermione shushed Ginny, and she sat back, reprimanded. Harry shot Hermione a grateful look, and continued, settling back further into his seat.

"Well, I followed the floating signs to a corridor, where I charmed open a door based on a set of instructions they had spelled into the wall, yes odd I know, and I ended up in this round, chamber like thing. The secretary told me to stand against the wall and I guess she cast a bunch of trait-identifying spells on me. That woman was creepy," said Harry shuddering. "I kept imagining her in something scarily lacy reading my results and moaning or something equally disturbing."

Ginny and Hermione started giggling, and even Ron looked amused.

"It may seem funny to you, but you imagine some creepy, bibliophilic woman reading through all your sexual appetites," said Harry, feigning indignance when Hermione and Ginny's giggles spiraled into laughter.

"Anyways, this tattooed, muscle-bound bouncer-type came to take me to my room, which was equally mortifying by the way, and before he left, he put this blind-fold charm on me. That's how it works to protect your identity, by the way," he explained to Ginny. "You can't quite see, but it's not complete blindness either."

Harry took in their slightly confused expressions before pulling out his wand. "Here I can show you, the charm is fairly easy," he said, before muttering _Velaro_, pointing his wand at each of them in turn. Hermione blinked as the spell hit her; the world turned gray-scale as the magic layered itself over her vision. Turning to look at her husband, she was surprised to see she couldn't make out any facial features at all, just a silhouette.

"It's cool, isn't it?" she heard Harry say.

"Yes! But doesn't that make sex awkward?" she heard Ginny ask bluntly.

"No. Not at all," Harry replied shortly.

Ginny gasped. "Then it was hot?" she asked excitedly.

"Merlin, Ginny, that's disgusting," Ron muttered in the background.

"Shut up, brother dearest. Just because you're straight as an arrow doesn't mean that Harry can't have his fun, or that I can't live vicariously through his fun," replied Ginny's silhouette snarkily.

"She has a point, you know," Hermione replied to Ron. "So was it hot, Harry?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Merlin, not you too!" Harry groaned. "Yes, for your general information it was incredibly hot and I'm incredibly glad you made me go to the stupid bar," he groused.

"Ah ha!" Hermione said triumphantly. "I knew that was a good idea!"

"_Finite,_" Harry said, and Hermione's vision slid back into view.

"Well?" Ginny said plaintively. "Are you going back?"

Harry's face softened. "Yes, I will be going back," he said quietly with a small smile.

Ginny cheered, and Hermione smiled. The conversation buzzed around her ears in a comforting manner, and the light was soft and happy as she studied Harry. He seemed happy in a way he hadn't been for…years. When he smiled, his whole face lit up and his dimples were showing, the whole of his face just seeming softer somehow. Hermione truly wished she knew who this mystery man of Harry's was so she could thank him for making her friend happy again.


	9. Chapter 9

**THIS TOOK FOREVER I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY AND TELLING YOUR FRIENDS ABOUT THIS CUZ GOODNESS by the way, thanks again for everyone who reviewed! You can ask my friends, everytimeI see that little email icon pop up onmy phone, I am ecstatic when I see its a review. I wish I could reply to all the reviews, but I'm lazy so I'll reply to some. Thanks all!**

**Fireaquila: Thanks! I'll try to thinking about how to add that**

**blacktear91: Thanks for the compliments! Keep reading, and I guess you'll find out!**

** .Beru: Damn. Thank you new favorite reader. I hope you like this chapter because it gets a bit steamy later!**

**Bipolar bear: I agree greatly, considering I'm bi myself so honestly I'm almost self-promoting here **

**Enjoy!**

"Fuuuuuuuck," Harry groaned leaning his head onto the wall outside the room of what seemed to be his five hundredth patient of the day. He knew the other staff members and patients were staring at him in the crowded halls, but, in his exhausted state, he couldn't bring himself to care. The whole week had been exactly like this; he'd wake up, scarf down some toast, apparate to work, spend the whole day chasing patient after patient, apparate home, and collapse into bed just to repeat the whole dastardly process the next day. He was questioning the sanity of his choice to become a healer when he felt a small pair of hands snake over his shoulders and begin kneading his tight muscles. A small groan escaped his lips as the knot of tension began to painfully loosen.

"Don't stop," he commanded the owner of the hands.

"Oh, honey, not when it feels so good," Teresa replied sexily, her tone laced with blatant innuendo.

"Real mature," Harry muttered, as Teresa cackled but didn't stop massaging. Harry's posture relaxed, his muscles loosening at the insistent pressure. He straightened, Teresa's hands slipping off, and rolled his shoulders. The joints crackled in protest and Teresa winced, but his muscles once again felt loose and limber.

"You have miraculous hands. You should be a masseuse," Harry declared, turning around to peck her on the cheek.

She grinned at him, wand holster sticking out from her sea foam colored scrubs, clipboard in hand. "Speaking of miraculous hands, how's that thing with Mr. Hickey going?" she said, waving her eyebrows at him suggestively.

_Oh shit._

"Actually I'm supposed to meet him tonight," Harry said raking a hand through his hair as he cursed himself internally. "Thanks for reminding me, I had actually forgotten." He'd been thinking about the mystery man all week, but, of course, the night he was actually supposed to see him again, he was so tired his brain almost wasn't functioning.

"Uh oh, if you've forgotten, it sounds like this guy isn't as great in bed as I'd been giving him credit for," Teresa mused. Harry shushed her, glancing around the hallway; Merlin she was louder than Ron.

"Actually, for your information he's fantastic in bed, but I think I'm going to have to cancel tonight," he said, feeling utterly bone weary. "I'm entirely too exhausted."

"Come on, tomorrow is Saturday. Call it a movie night or a bottle of wine and cuddling night, but don't cancel!" Teresa exclaimed, poking Harry hard in the chest."

Harry smiled wanly, thinking of the spanking and murmured teasing of the man he was supposed to meet. Damn, he knew he was tired if _those_ images didn't inspire his cock at all.

"I don't think he's quite the movie and cuddling type," he replied dryly.

Teresa pouted, lips pursed prettily. Harry grinned, wrapping her in a spontaneous hug. She uttered a muffled squeak of surprise at finding herself suddenly pressed against a hard, muscular chest, before relaxing into his arms and hugging him back. Releasing her from his long-armed grip, he poked her playfully, inspiring little shrieks and failed fending off attempts.

"Back, heathen, back," she giggled, slapping at his fingers.

"Your wish is my command," he said solemnly, holding his hands up in front of him. "Would you do me a favor?" he said, fishing in his pocket for a bit of paper.

"That depends on what it is," Teresa replied brightly.

"First, I need to borrow your clipboard," he said, taking the proffered item when she handed it to him. "Next," he said, supporting the clipboard on his knee as he wrote, "I need you to take my next patient so I can find an owl."

Teresa gawked at him. "You think I can take your next patient and deal with mine?! If you had asked me to give you a toe or catch you a Hungarian Horntail, I would have gladly done it, but this is just too much."

Harry laughed at her outraged face, before catching himself and giving her his best puppy-dog eyes. "Please? It's just one itty bitty patient…" he cajoled. She harrumphed and folded her arms. "I'll buy you pie on Monday," he said, turning to bribery.

She stared at him, as though trying to search his soul. "Make it Monday and Tuesday and you've got yourself a deal," she finally said.

"You drive a hard bargain Ms. Rosencratz," he said, shaking his head disparagingly. "My patient is right here, lucky for you," he pointed to the door right next to him. He started jogging down the corridor towards the staff owlery, yelling thanks over his shoulder.

"You're lucky I love you!" she called after him, flipping him the finger. He returned the favor over his shoulder. As he got further from his friend, he sighed; his tired muscles were protesting even the jog. Sometimes he really wished his life weren't so damnably complicated.

* * *

Draco was sitting in his study, immersed in a book, when the owl arrived. He started so badly at the tapping of the bird's beak that he almost tossed his book at it. Fortunately, he caught himself before any windows were broken and gingerly set it back down on the rough wooden surface. _You'd think I wouldn't startle so easily after so many years,_ he thought, taking a calming breath with a hand over his fluctuating heart. He approached the window, warily noting the official appearance of the large owl. He slid the window open and the owl hopped inside and onto his desk where it stuck its leg out, to which was tied an envelope. The owl regarded him almost reproachfully, as if it was Draco's fault that he'd had to deliver the letter. Opening the envelope, Draco was surprised to see two slips of paper. Stroking the bird, he read the first.

_Mr. Malfoy,_

_This letter has been sent to inform you that your appointment for tonight has been canceled by your chosen partner. His note is enclosed._

Turning the other bit of paper over, he read the jagged handwriting.

_Whoever you are;_

_I have to, regretfully, say that I am entirely too exhausted to make tonight's meeting pleasant for either of us. I have to cancel. Rain check?_

Draco swore, crumpling the note. He'd been looking forward to this all week! He leaned back against the desk and suddenly something struck him as odd about the note, and he uncrumpled it to further examine it. He scrutinized the messy handwriting; although it looked as though this had been written in a hurry, the handwriting struck him as familiar. Had the man maybe sent him some other note with a different letter from the bar? Yes, that must be it…no other explanation possibly made sense. Draco accepted that that must be the reason, but it somehow didn't seem quite adequate to him.

He sighed, sticking one leg out as he tapped his toes to the beat of his disappointment and annoyance. Why, tonight of all nights, was this man's work exhausting him. Draco wished he knew where the man worked so he could throttle his boss. And maybe so that he might be able to possibly catch a glimpse of the other man's face. Since his first encounter with the man, Draco's sleep had apparently decided that it was going to interrupt every single night with dreams about his mouth, his body, his cock…but never his face. It was driving Draco insane. Sooner or later, he knew he would have to see this man face to face, to know who it was that made him crazy with lust. No one controlled Draco Malfoy, brain or body. Merlin, when he thought of the other man his prick seemed to think he was 15 again with crazy, uncontrollable hormones. Draco sighed. What he needed was some wine and a deep tissue massage.

Draco shot up straight. Wine and a deep tissue massage. Jesus he was brilliant. He reached for a quill, grinning from ear to ear. Maybe this night was salvageable after all.

* * *

Harry practically stumbled out of St. Bridgett's Hospital, his exhausted legs nearly betraying him with every step. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this tired. The exhausted was bone deep, a weariness that settled into the marrow and weighed down his limbs and his mind. Leaning his back against the cool brick of the building, he closed his eyes, letting his head hit the brick behind him with a muffled thunk. He could barely feel the pain. He had drifted into a vegetative state when a loud hoot in his ear shocked him out of his stupor. Flailing wildly towards the noise, his legs finally gave out and he landed in an undignified heap on the flagstones. Significantly more awake, Harry glared at the offending bird and flipped it two fingers. The bird stared down at him, looking ridiculously smug as it stared down at him indolently from its perch on one of the railings that lined the hospital walkway.

"You did that on purpose, you prick," Harry muttered at the bird, picking himself up from the ground. The large, tawny beast just stared at him haughtily and hooted again.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Harry grumbled at the bird, pulling the attached envelope from its outstretched leg. Tearing open the paper, he stared at the elegant, curving script on the page.

_Mr. "Whoever you are": _

_I completely understand how terrible it is to have had an exhausting day at work. Going home to an empty bed often just makes it worse, though, does it not? I've rented one of the rooms for the night; meet me at 9:30, and bring a change of clothes and whatever else you need. I can make you feel much better._

_See you then_

Harry just stared. And stared. And stared. This was a surprise. His man was turning out to be a bit more than Harry had bargained for. It slightly amused him that the tone was one of obvious expectation; he was assuming Harry would come, the arrogant prick. Harry grinned and apparated home without warning, leaving a ruffled, indignant owl in his wake, wondering what it was that his mystery man had in store for him tonight. Never did it even cross his mind to refuse.

* * *

Draco sat on the bed, waiting in the most opulent room that he could possibly have rented in the whole establishment; it was one of the few equipped for slightly more than just a short tryst. A door led to a spacious bathroom with a large, Jacuzzi style stone tub at ground level with steps leading down into it, a walk-in shower, a double vanity, and a large stack of fluffy, white towels. The room was also slightly more spacious, with a wet bar in one of the corners, on which Draco had set a bottle of wine and two glasses, as well as a bottle of massage oil and some spa stones that were under a warming charm. The rest of the furnishings were roughly the same, The Closet still in the corner, and the platform bed looking just as cozy and inviting as ever, even with the blindfold spell in place. Draco groaned, arching his back so he could see the outlines of the light fixture on the ceiling, stretching until he heard vertebrates crackle and pop. Slumping back down, he drummed his fingers on the cover impatiently. If the other man would ever get there…

The door creaked open, and the silhouette of a man walked in, bringing a bag with him. No, walk was not the right word; the only way to describe the man's movement was galumphing. Each step looked weighted down and large. Draco almost checked to see if the other man had been hexed with elephant feet; it looked truly uncomfortable. Standing up from the bed, he walked over to where the man was currently holding up the wall, and grabbed his bag, setting it down, before pulling the smaller man into a tight embrace. He leaned into Draco, wrapping his long arms around him and nuzzling his face into his shirt. Draco was struck by an odd possessiveness; he wanted to make the people that had made his stranger so vulnerable and weary pay, and pay dearly. The man made a contented sound against Draco's sweater, and he was suddenly unfoundedly grateful he'd worn cashmere.

"Long day?" he murmured into the shorter man's hair.

"The longest, accompanied by the longest week," came the muffled reply.

Draco made a soft, understanding noise deep in his throat and, although truly he could have stayed in that position just embracing the man for hours, he pulled away, threading his fingers through the other man's. He felt the rough brush of callous, worker's hands, as the fingers tightened around his and he led the exhausted man towards the bed.

"What you need is some good wine and a deep tissue massage," declared Draco, attempting to pull his fingers away, but the man held tight. Turning back around, he saw the silhouette lift Draco's fingers to his mouth and press a kiss onto the knuckles. He shivered. Pulling his fingers again, he said playfully "If you don't give me my hand back, there will be no wine for you."

"Oh that's a shame," said the other man, his sleepiness only adding another layer to the huskiness of his bedroom voice. Draco suppressed another shiver, before walking towards, the wet bar, trying to keep their fingers in contact for as long as possible before letting them slip away. Once at the bar, he poured two glasses of vintage wine with shaking fingers, trying not to think of the implications of his shaking or his odd possessiveness earlier. Tonight was not for thinking, he could do that any other time. Tonight was for him to enjoy.

Padding back towards the bed, wine in hand, he sat down next to the figure on the bed, handing him a wine glass. The man took a sip, humming appreciatively before resting his head on Draco's shoulder. Draco stiffened for a moment, staring forward before relaxing. He glanced down at the head on his shoulder, studying the silhouette. He could see the outline of a strong nose and full lips, the glasses he knew were there barely visible. Curse this stupid blindfold charm, he wanted to see the man's face!

"It'd be easier if I had something to call you," Draco said, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could think them through.

The other man looked up at him, surprise evident in his posture, shoulders up and back, head turned up to look at him.

"Yes, I suppose it would be," he said quietly.

"Not our real names or anything, of course. I mean I just thought maybe it would be easier to, you know, be able to call you something instead of just thinking of you as 'the man' or 'that one I fuck' or something, I mean you don't have to, it was just a suggestion – " Draco rambled on, embarrassment heating his features.

The man looked faintly amused, and leaned in to press a kiss on to Draco's mouth, effectively shutting him up.

"That sounds like a great idea," he said, the smile coloring his the tone of his voice into a deep, orangey tone rather than its usual piney green.

"You can call me James," he said. "What shall I call you?"

"You can call me…Scorpius," said Draco, catching the first name that popped into his head.

"Alright…Scorpius," James replied. Draco smiled, leaning his head down to rest on James'. It was odd and a bit surreal to finally name his stranger. The name also seemed to fit him somehow, although it was obvious that it wasn't his real name.

"It's going to be a bit odd not just thinking of you as 'my mystery man'," James remarked wryly, interrupting Draco's thoughts.

"I was just thinking the same thing myself, actually," Draco murmured in reply. James sighed in contentment and nuzzled deeper into Draco's shoulder. Draco put his arm around his broad shoulders, leaning into the warmth.

"The color of that wine has always reminded me of cellos," he remarked absent mindedly, and blinked, feeling a blush creep up his neck.

"How do you mean?" the other man said, sitting up. Draco missed the warmth of his head immediately, the shoulder somehow feeling bereft.

"When I hear sounds, I don't just hear the tones. I see colors," Draco began to explain, shifting awkwardly on the bed. "Like for instance church bells are a deep purple color, sirens are a vicious red, violin is a cheerful orangey sort of thing, and cellos are this maroon that reminds me of good wine."

"Wow," James said softly. "That's beautiful." Draco nodded, forgetting the other man couldn't see him very well.

"What…what does my voice sound like?" James asked tentatively, seeming almost afraid to ask.

"Like a forest," Draco replied quietly, closing his eyes to imagine. "The deep green of a pine forest where the sounds and colors are muffled by fog and everything is peaceful and quiet,"

Draco heard a sharp intake of breath, and heard the rustle of movement before he felt a hand caress his face softly. He leaned into the touch, inhaling shakily; then a pair of warm, chapped lips brushed his and everything was forgotten. This kiss was different from any of the others they had shared; slower and passionate, not rushed or frenzied. Draco pulled James down on top of him, never breaking their connection, running his hands over the sculptured back. The heat burned slow and deep, like a hot spring pooling in his abdomen, warming him from the inside out. Legs and arms twined, the brush of lips and the tangling of fingers giving Draco sensations he had never felt. It was as if the stars had aligned over their bed, their lips and tongues dancing in a sinuous waltz that had no rhyme or reason; just perfection.

With a small mewl James tried to deepen the kiss, and Draco could feel the man's erection thrusting languorously against his hip, fueling his own desire. He groaned, but pulled away, pushing himself up onto his elbows. The smaller man voiced his displeasure with a nip to Draco's neck, but Draco just laughed and pinned the twining arms underneath him.

"You were exhausted, remember?" he pointed out, amused and trying not to give in and let his mouth hang open and his eyes roll back as James continued to bite and kiss at his neck. His cock twitched between them and he suppressed a moan. Damn his sensitive neck!

"No. I had a plan and we're sticking to it," Draco admonished playfully, placing a finger as a barrier between the mouth and his neck. The other man bit it playfully, tracing his tongue across the skin. _Shit, that's good,_ Draco moaned internally, a bit dazed with arousal.

"I've had a change of heart," grinned James around Draco's finger, each word tonguing the digit in a way that went straight to his groin. The fuck. Fingers were not supposed to be so sensitive!

Draco mock glared at James. The bastard knew exactly what this was doing to him! He growled, flipping so that James was pinned beneath him. He thrust his hips, once, twice, until he heard the sharp intake of breath from beneath him. He imagined the man's pupils dilating with arousal, and oh fuck, he was supposed to be massaging him with his hands, not his dick!

Rolling sinuously off of him, Draco walked towards the bar to grab the massage oil.

"Don't you dare move from there, or I swear to God I will tie you to the bed," he threatened, hearing the bed springs creak.

"Yes my most holy and powerful fuck master," came the wry reply from the bed.

Grabbing the oil, Draco made his way back to the bed.

"Clothes off," he commanded. Pants, shirt, and socks hit the ground before he could say "Dobby's Sock".

"Oh, eager are we?" he grinned wickedly, adding his own clothes to the pile on the floor.

"Just as eager as you, Scorpius," James said, looking up smugly up at him from his position flat on his back on the bed, cock standing proudly at attention. Draco stared, swallowing dryly, before replying:

"You're looking a bit too comfortable there for my taste."

"Oh?"

"Definitely. I think it's time to start making you squirm."

"How do you plan to that, praytell?"

"Turn over, and you'll find out."

James gulped, and his cock twitched obviously, and it was all Draco could do to not to laugh. The smaller man turned slowly on to his stomach, easing onto his sensitive erection with a groan.

"Merlin, I'm so hard I can barely stand to lie on my stomach," he groused, before moaning as Draco straddled his thighs, shifting the covers beneath his hard member.

"Think of it as extended punishment for your snarkiness earlier, hm?" Draco replied, although his own cock was equally straining. James grunted noncommittally, wriggling his arse to relieve the pressure on his prick.

The sight nearly drove Draco to distraction, and he grabbed the oil and poured some onto James's back before he could do something stupid like wank or lose control and fuck the git in the arse.

Rubbing his fingers in the puddle of oil, he began to move his fingers in circles, massaging the huge knots he found in the flesh. James moaned in pleasure.

"Jesus, you're better than Teresa," he mumbled into the covering, each press and knead of Draco's long fingers draining a bit more pressure away from his obviously over-taxed frame.

"Who's Teresa?" Draco asked sharply, rubbing his hands down the oil-slicked skin.

"Oh, just a coworker at the hospital," he replied, laughing at Draco's tone. Draco relaxed guiltily at having been spotted in his jealousy that _he really shouldn't have had in the first place_.

"So you work at the hospital?" he said conversationally, working at a specifically tense knot in the small of the other man's back.

"Mmm yeah, that's – fuck – really good, hm? Oh yah I do. What about you?" he replied distractedly. He seemed to melting into the bed.

"Oh I run my own apothecary business," he said, kneading the other man's arse, to his leaking cock's masochistic delight. James moaned loudly with abandon.

"Merlin, just fuck me already," he gasped out, hands balled into fists. "I can't fucking taking it anymore."

Draco heartily agreed with him, but was concerned for the other man's exhausted state.

"Not tonight," he murmured, rubbing his prick teasingly over James's well-oiled arse, but the strangled mewls coming from beneath him were enough to convince him he'd denied he and this man orgasms for long enough.

"Flip over onto your back," he commanded, still straddling the other's thighs. James flipped over, sighing with relief as his cock sprang free from its confines. Draco kissed him then, brutally and demanding. Fisting both of their cocks in his long-fingered and still oiled hand, he stroked them together, pillaging James's hot mouth with his tongue. He was claiming him, and as the familiar heat of orgasm coiled low in his belly, he came with a cry. He saw white as he felt rather than heard the other man come, the bucking of the hips powerful and instinctual beneath his. Collapsing on top of him, he heard the other man drowsily whisper a cleaning spell, but the only thought running through his head was that this man was his.

_All his. _


	10. Chapter 10

**Oh my goodness, I am so sorry I haven't updated! I honestly feel terrible...I just completely lost interest for like six months in there. I started reading fanfictions instead of writing them, and then I got busy with musical season and I just never got back into it. But here it is, the long awaited chapter ten!**

**On a different note, I'm looking for a beta, so if there's anyone interested please message me! **

**On yet another different note, are there any drarry contests anyone knows about? I think I'm better at writing short things oops, and I'd love to try my hand at one of those.**

**As always, REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW and please let your friends know about my story! THANK YOU SO MANY SMOOCHES AND SO MUCH LOVE OKAY HERE'S CHAPTER TEN**

The next few weeks passed in a blur of colors and faces for Harry. He was happier than he had been in ages; although his work was still absolutely insane and he continued to have minor spats with Hermione about outing himself, life was good. Really good. When he finally arrived home and collapsed on the bed, convinced that he could never get up again, he thought of his next meeting with Scorpius and dragged himself, grumbling and aching, awake the next morning. The man gave him strength.

Harry hadn't realized just how lonely he had been until he had someone to fill the space inside him. What had started as just a fuck-buddy was quickly turning into a lover. When Harry was too exhausted to have sex, Scorpius came equipped with a bottle of wine, a massage, and comforting arms, often staying up late into the night just to talk.

They talked about everything from how Harry had realized he was gay (He had kissed Seamus during a drunken game of truth or dare; they didn't really mention it. **Ever.**) to work, to previous lovers. Scorpius had apparently once had a boyfriend so possessive that he had jinxed Scorpius's hands so that if they came in contact with skin, they would transfer a message reading "I'm a little whore" onto the person's forehead. After more than a few mortifying business meetings and a couple of botched contracts, that particular relationship had ended with a restraining order. Harry, not normally a talker, was amazed at how comfortable he felt around the man, especially considering he'd never even truly seen his face.

Harry was starting to worry about what would happen when Scorpius became sick of him.

It was bound to happen eventually, right? They were just fuck buddies, at least Harry figured that's what Scorpius saw them as. One night after a particularly long day at work, Harry decided this particular issue deserved some major mulling over.

He knew if he thought too hard he would end up over-thinking and end up with a load of bollocks occupying his brain rather than clear headed decisions, so he started the evening right with a tumbler of his favorite oak-matured mead. Or maybe two tumblers. What did it matter if he over-indulged a bit? He needed to be able to go with his gut rather than have his head clouded with worries. Liquid courage could do a lot for a man.

After eating his favorite comfort food, roast beef reminiscent of what Mrs. Weasley used to make on Christmas day, he loped to the bathroom to settle into one of his guilty pleasures; a bath. Never was there a better thinking place than a hot bath.

After being spoiled in his sixth year with the baths in the prefect bathroom, Harry felt the appearance of a large tub in any flat of his was an absolute necessity. This being the case, his bathroom was easily the most opulent room in his entire flat. The immaculate appearance of the stone and mahogany bathroom, which was stocked with anything and everything a gay man might need, was Harry's pride, although truthfully he was a bit embarrassed by it. Honestly, how much more stereotypically flamer could he get?

Filling the tub with hot water, he poured in a silky stream of bubbling soap. Yes. The Savior of The Wizarding World took bubble baths. He simply could not abide in a bath without the scented covering, and his scent of choice was sandalwood. To be completely honest, sandalwood wasn't his favorite, but the quality of the soap was unmatched.

Dimming the lights with a flick of his wand, he sank into the fragrant water with a sigh of pleasure as the heat of the water loosened his muscles and relaxed his brain. He lay steeping in the warmth for a heavenly moment, losing himself in the quiet. Shaking himself more alert, he lazily flicked his wand again, muttering a charm under his breath. The water began to roil and swirl, the soap bubbling into the white coating Harry adored. Drawing in a deep breath of sandalwood, he turned his attention to the matter at hand.

Scorpius.

The man was a mystery.

A true mystery. Harry grinned wryly, thinking of the type of "mystery" referred to in those rubbish romance novels that witches were constantly swooning over. Not some "dark and brooding bedroom eyes" type…no, not Scorpius. Although he supposed that "dark and brooding bedroom eyes" might just describe the man perfectly; how was he to know? For Merlin's sake, Harry had never even seen his face! He frowned; for some reason this sent a whisper of discontent shivering down his spine.

This in itself disturbed him. Why should it matter to him that he had never seen the man? He was just someone to let out the sexual frustration with, a living sex toy. But it did matter...it mattered a hell of a lot.

Harry groaned, slapping the water in frustration, sending soapy spray flying onto his glasses. This was not supposed to happen! He was supposed to have found an easy way to alleviate his loneliness and sex drive with the occasional casual fuck with no strings attached, not find himself feeling like a clingy girlfriend terrified of losing her boyfriend. _Merlin, boyfriend? As if. _Harry thought to himself, disgusted at his word choice. Besides, he didn't want to date Scorpius! Harry couldn't tell himself enough times that he hadn't even met the man; how could he possibly want to be his boyfriend? It was just ridiculous.

_Oh shit._

His monster had woken up.

It growled at him, baring mental teeth. This was a warning that he had only felt once before; when he had watched, fists clenched, as Ginny snogged Dean in the Gryffindor common room. It was a warning Harry didn't want to understand, but did, all too well.

He and his god-damned feelings were well and truly fucked.

Suddenly, he sat up straight in the foamy water, waves slopping over the stone sides of the tub. That was it! _Why the hell didn't I think of this before?_ He thought to himself, marveling at the simplicity of the plan.

So, he hadn't met Scorpius? _Well, there's one way to fix that, isn't there? _he grinned, already mapping out the details in his head.

He had to meet him, face to face, man to man. Only then could he decide what he truly wanted, and how to go about getting it.

Harry knew he didn't want to meet his mystery man at the scene of their weekly tryst; no, it had to be a neutral zone, somewhere that his lust wasn't going to get in the way of his thoughts. Now the question was where, and how. Would Scorpius agree to meeting face to face, or would he dismiss the idea as ridiculous and leave Harry where he'd been before; sex-starved and lonely?

_Well, _Harry mused, _at least that's one way to find out quickly. It's like a band-aid; you have to rip it off fast so you don't prolong the pain. _

Settling back down into his bath, Harry thought and worried and thought and worried, a small crease appearing in between his eyebrows. He went over everything that could possibly go wrong or right, from forgetting to wear pants to setting Scorpius's hair on fire. To his chagrin, a few random daydreams of declarations of love popped up uninvited, as well as some distracting snippets of the man fucking him senseless in the middle of a public area. Scowling at his now wayward nether regions, he banished the thoughts to the back of his brain.

Hours later, even under the influence of multiple warming charms, the water was barely luke-warm and Harry's fingers resembled raisins; however, he had a plan. Drying himself quickly, he slid under his sheets and took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm his racing heart. Setting his glasses on the bedside table, he flicked his wand at the light switch and resigned himself to night of poor sleep and the beginning of a torturous week of waiting.

v

"You can't."

"Don't tell me I can't, this is my business, and my neck, not yours!"

"Yes, but that neck is attached to a very valuable apothecary owner, and I won't allow you to risk it by making rash decisions!"

v

The sound of shattered glass echoed through the house as a fine, crystal champagne flute shattered against the wall of his finely equipped kitchen. A second and third crash echoed in the room, the tinkle of crystal evident as they joined their unfortunate siblings' gleaming shards on the floor. Draco panted heavily, fists tensely clenched against his sides, staring at the remains of the family heirlooms and his frustration. There was a faint pop as Cypress, his house elf, appeared to clean up the mess.

"Don't," Draco snapped at the unfortunate house elf who looked up at him fearfully with her bulbous eyes.

"Leave it. I want them left right where I threw them," Draco snapped again, glaring at the house elf. Cypress nodded shakily, stumbling away from her master as though her were mad and the disease were catching, before apparating away with a second faint pop.

Draco leaned heavily against the wall, covering his face with a shaking hand. Maybe he was mad, he didn't know. It was unreasonable that he be this enraged by a simple denial. So what if he wasn't able to get one ingredient for a potion? Why was it making him so bloody angry?! The potion was an incredibly dangerous one to make, with imminent fiery explosions, pain and death if any one step was disregarded or relayed incorrectly. It had to be created with the utmost care and precision, a perfect challenge for a man of his skill and prestige; however, it would make sense that Longbottom, now the top rare plant and ingredient distributor for all wizards, hadn't wanted to sell him the final ingredients. The process was notoriously dangerous.

Draco sneered to himself; bloody Gryffindors and their bloody morality. Even Neville bloody Longbottom turned out to be enough of a Gryffindor prat to grow a backbone and refuse to sell Draco the materials he needed. And he needed them: desperately. The potion was an especially rare and complicated draught because, if brewed correctly, it would give the drinker true happiness. Not the insubstantial, temporary ecstasy that wizard drugs could provide, but a true, bone-deep happiness. Those glowing, glorious days that inhabit a special corner of all people's mind would begin to occur more often for the drinker. A smile would come more easily, conversation would be open and friendly. Sickness was rare, death even more so; depression was unheard of.

Draco supposed the potion should truly be called "Acceptance". Merlin, he needed some of that. His life was better than it had been in a long time, but being the son of a Death Eater, who happened to be having incredibly confusing feelings about a _man_ he'd never even seen, was not exactly a bloody picnic.

His frustration a bit alleviated, Draco could now see the humor in the situation. The boy who had always made the biggest and most hilarious blunders, seemed the weakest, been the easiest to pick on, turned around and within a year became one of the most respected Hogwarts alumni the school had ever seen. He, the "Prince of Slytherin" had become a simple apothecary owner that could be stopped from getting potions ingredients by that meddling Gryffindor who was too nice for his own good.

Although, Draco smiled darkly, recalling the man's words, it seemed that Neville had learned that politeness wouldn't get him everywhere in the world.

He groaned suddenly, banging his head once against the wall. Pulling out his wand, he repaired the glasses and returned them to their cupboard, although he honestly would have been fine with throwing the shards away. Bloody ugly things, heirlooms.

Draco padded to the sofa in the midst of his great room, absentmindedly grabbing a bottle of Firewhiskey from the counter on his way. He had tipped a generous amount of the amber liquor into his mouth when a sharp pain in his shin left a spray of alcohol floating in the air and not a small amount of it making its way down his blue, silk shirt, as he hopped up and down clutching his shin with one hand, the bottle of Firewhiskey hanging precariously from his other. This was all accompanied, of course, by copious amounts of swearing.

Plopping down on the sofa, he glared at the coffee table that had so grievously injured him and took a lengthy swig from the bottle. He sighed huffily, feeling utterly sorry for himself. That god damn coffee table had forced him to plop onto the sofa. Malfoys did not plop! The liquid on his shirt felt as though a wet sponge had been thrown at him multiple times by an irritable gnome with a grudge (spoken from experience; Slytherin parties were always something to remember), his leg hurt like a bitch and he knew he would have an unsightly purple bruise, all on top of the thrice damned Longbottom refusing to send him his potion ingredients!

_There is absolutely no way this day could get any worse, _Draco thought moodily, feeling incredibly self-compunctious. He shivered, a chill from his soaked shirt twisting without warning through his synapses and making a charging exploration with pick axes and hatchets into his already naturally cold extremities. He had begun to unbutton his shirt, knowing that he wouldn't be warm until the offending article of clothing was removed, when the lilac tones of his doorbell chimed through his home. Draco stood up with a growl, buttons pinging against furniture as he angrily ripped the rest of the shirt off of his goose bumped torso. He stalked heavily to the front door, slamming the heavy thing open. "What?" he snarled at the figure, not bothering to even glance at the intruder.

"Malfoy."

Draco turned indignantly at the tone and he opened his mouth to give a scathing reply before he caught a glimpse of the man's face. He stopped dead in his tracks, mouth hanging foolishly open, awaiting the arrival of bugs as his father would have said.

_Well, maybe it can get worse._


	11. Chapter 11

**I swear to god this story needs angst *grumble grumble* well yeah anyways my ass is sore from sitting too long to write this, but i hope you enjoy! Especially the little teasy scene near the end...don't worry real sex is not far in coming!**

**As always please review!**

Ronald Weasley sat behind his garish, oversized, and quite unfortunately pink desk in his equally unfortunately pink office located in the bustling Ministry of Magic. His nearly closed eyes were glazed over as he stared vapidly into space, the glazed appearance most likely being a byproduct of the offensive color of the furniture. The pink, however, was not his fault in any way, shape, or form seeing as this had once been the office of Delores Umbridge, known for her infamously ironic love of all things pink and cuddly.

When Ron had first been hired as Head of the Department for Wayward Magick and Wizards, he had been assigned the office and, seeing the spacious area and high ceilings, thought smugly that he had been given the best office in the whole Ministry. Of course, no one had thought to warn him of the…contrary nature of the furnishings. The paint on the walls stubbornly refused to be painted over, and the furniture wouldn't budge from their spots. Every time a new attempt was made to move a bit of furniture or paint the brick a slightly less abhorrent color, the room would stage a revolt. Numerous pink pairs of socks and one memorably hot pink set of dress robes later, Ron had decided to simply leave the room as it was.

"Ronald, dearest, it's wakey, wakey time, you've nearly missed breakfast" a distinctly falsetto voice sang chirpily into his ear. Ron's eyes flew open and his head snapped to attention, banging sharply into the source of the voice. Cursing loudly, Ron proceeded to give himself whip lash as he tried to scramble away from the solid object that had just caused him so much pain; he further succeeded in colliding with his desk, sending a mug to the floor with a loud crash that created concerned glances from those ministry employees walking past his open door.

"Oh fuck, what'd you do that for?" came the now distinctly _grumpy_ voice of George Weasley, whose equally distinctly grumpy face came into view as he rounded Ron's desk rubbing his forehead.

"Well I wouldn't have done it if you'd gotten my attention like a civilized human being," Ron groused at his older brother, his head ringing painfully from the force of two impacts. Reaching to grab his wand, he groaned as the ringing morphed into a dull pounding centered right between his eyes.

"I hate you," he said calmly to George as he aimed a _Reparo_ at the broken mug.

"Love you too, lil sis," George smirked at him, folding his lanky frame into the deep armchair in front of the desk.

Ron sighed. Sometimes he really wished he'd been an only child. "What do you want?" Ron asked wearily, rubbing the tender spot on his forehead. "I thought today was your day at Wheezes."

Ever since The War, George had thrown himself into his work at the joke shop. It had taken him years to get over his twin's death, and even now his smile was not as wide, the sparkle in his eyes muted. In response to George's obsessive work, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes exploded with business and, in a shorter time than anyone would have thought, became capable of nearly running itself. No longer feeling the need to be at the shop one hundred percent of the time, George began to look for other work, and it was no time at all before the charismatic man had landed himself a job in Inner-Ministry Communications. He oversaw all memos, interdepartmental relations, and assignments, provided they weren't _too_ important. Despite this drastic career change, he still popped into the shop once a week, to "make sure things were running smoothly", although Ron knew it was mostly just because he loved it there.

"Nah mate, that's tomorrow," George replied with a grin. "I have a most delightfully nefarious assignment for you, and I'm absolutely sure you'll love it."

"Well don't keep me waiting, I'm simply _dying_ to know," Ron deadpanned, adopting an expression reminiscent to that of a bloated toad.

George, ignoring the blatant sarcasm, replied triumphantly, "Draco Malfoy has been reported for the requesting of a rare potions ingredient that is often used in dark potions. As I'm assuming you'll want to handle this personally, I will need you to make a trip to his home and search for any evidence of illicit activity. Take him into custody if there's even an inkling that he might be practicing dark magic," he finished with relish.

Ron sat back in his chair with a muffled thump, his headache momentarily forgotten.

"Draco Malfoy," he said, something akin to wonder coloring his voice. "I haven't heard that name in years."

"Well you've just heard it again, and much as I hate to say it, are you really surprised the blighter got himself involved with the dark arts again?" George asked, rolling his eyes. "Probably couldn't find any other way to keep himself busy, if you know what I mean. Death Eater cock just isn't as sought after as it used to be." He sighed deeply, as though deeply and morally wronged by the outrageous standards of witches.

"Yah, you'd think with a name like Death _Eater _they'd be navigating through hordes of women wanting a little play time," Ron said dryly.

"That was horrible Ronnie-kins."

"Thank you Georgie-poo, I'm glad you still appreciate my sense of humor."

"Don't you mean lack there-of?"

"Fuck off."

George snickered at his victory before he composed himself, opening his brief case and pulling a large paper back out of the enchanted compartment. Pulling a large file out of the bag, he plopped the thick sheaf of papers onto Ron's ostentatious desk saying, "Here's Malfoy's folder. In it should be his address and any other information that you may need to know."

Opening the folder, Ron glanced quickly at the top sheet of paper, quickly registering the first few facts. Rifling distractedly through the papers, he listened with half an ear (no pun intended) to George prattle on about schematics of the "operation", if he could even call it that.

"- paperwork goes to Melissa at the front desk in my department, and for merlin's sake Ron make sure you bring the search permit, Malfoy could get your ass fired if you don't, also watch out for Licking Lizards, I heard there was a containment issue at Malfoy's shop and those things are sneaky little buggers. In fifth year, I found one in Fred's sock drawer, quite the scarring experience let me tell you, my nose and other...uh…unmentionable areas were covered in bites for weeks and we never did get the spit out of those socks, Fred was forever complaining about the smell, and Ron make sure…Ron…Ron…RON!"

"What?!" Ron yelled back.

"This is important, pay attention!" George said, looking mildly affronted.

"Sorry," Ron muttered, looking back at the paper he had been engrossed in moments before. "It's just, merlin, have you seen these facts? Sure it has the normal stuff like height and weight and stuff, but this other stuff is weird. Favorite tea, most common before bed activity, highest thread-count sheets, bloody hell someone would have to be stalking him to get this stuff. I'll bet they'd have his bloody dick size if I read far enough," he said, looking vaguely green.

"Don't you know? It's the ministry's job to know every..little…thing…about everyone!" George whispered waggling his eyebrows and grinning at his little brother. "Oh you know, I'll bet they know how many times a night you and Hermione shag! Oh nasty mental image ew, should not have said that."

"It's your own ruddy fault," Ron said, feeling slightly miffed at the comment.

"Yah, yah, anyways as I was saying, this is important," George said, his tone suddenly very sober.

Ron quirked an eyebrow at him, mystified at the sudden shift of mood.

"No matter what you think you know about this man, what you remember from your days at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy is a very different person now. He's a grown man, and an ex Death Eater at that. That raises the likelihood of dangerous and violent behavior ten-fold, and the effectiveness of said dangerous behavior is consequently raised as well. Just…" George's shoulders slumped slightly and he sighed, all at once seeming much older than his 28 years. "Be carefully, alright? Don't do anything rash."

Ron gave an understanding half-smile, tinged with sadness. "I will, don't worry," He promised his older brother. The unspoken reason for George's words lay heavily between them; the silence thick as Ron reflected on how much life had changed for them since the war. Fucking Voldemort and his fucking crazy followers, one of which, he remembered, his frown deepening, he would have to visit and treat with the same amount of professional decorum that he did all of his other investigation cases.

_I dunno if it's such a great idea for me to search that prick's house. _Ron thought, recognizing the curl of animosity in his stomach. _I'll probably end up punching the git right in his pointy face or getting a harassment report filed against me. I like being employed thanks. _

"I'm out of here," George's voice cut through his thoughts. "This shade of fuschia should not exist, let alone be permitted in an official government space," he said, managing a weak smile.

"Good, go bother someone else," Ron smirked back, the comment lacking any real malice.

George flipped him off over his shoulder, banging the door shut as he left. The noise echoed through Ron's head like a shot, harkening the return of his headache with the force of a thousand stampeding porcupines. Groaning, Ron slumped down into his chair and tried to think over the _ree ree_ of the porcupines taking residence in his cranium.

Although he'd love to be the one to take the blonde bastard down a peg, he knew, deep in the heart of the professionalism that he had studiously acquired since first taking the job, that he would never be able to keep his head around Malfoy. Not with so many opportunities to goad him just ripening like a succulent watermelon on the vine (Ron loved watermelon). So he was ruled out for the mission…however, there was one other person in his department that he knew would love to take the case. Still hated Malfoy with enough passion to give him a hard time, especially considering his, for lack of a better descriptive term, history with Harry, but didn't have such a deep rooted, personal hatred towards the Slytherin.

_Yes, _Ron thought. _Seamus Finnegan ought to do just fine. _

v

Draco snapped his open mouth shout and bared his teeth at the crazy, pyrotechnical bastard standing in front of him. Seamus Finnegan? What in the _bloody fuck_ was Seamus Finnegan doing on his doorstep? However, before he could voice these thoughts in his typically scathing manner, Finnegan had already pushed his way past him and into his home, managing to be both flippantly rude and touch as little of his body as possible. An impressive feat, he had to admit.

"So, I doubt you know why I'm here, so I guess I better start there, eh?" Finnegan said, gratingly cheerful sounding in that horrendous Irish brogue. "I'm here from the Ministry of Magic, Department for Wayward Magick and Wizards, and I'm here to investigate a claim made by an anonymous party that you are brewing dark potions in a terrifying lab that I'm quite sure is languishing in your basement, and I'm also quite sure that you're going to want to put on a shirt before the rest of this search begins," He finished jauntily, gesturing towards Draco's bare chest and winking rakishly.

Draco, having been completely overcome with shock at seeing what felt to him like a ghost from a darker past appear on his door step, had nearly forgotten he wasn't wearing a shirt and was embarrassed to feel his traitorous cheeks warm at Seamus's wink.

"Thank you ever so much for inviting yourself in, would you care for a Firewhiskey while you're here, perhaps a bath in my Jacuzzi?" he spat, holding up the bottle in his hand like a trophy stag head, trying to imbibe as much sarcasm into one sentence as he possibly could to make up for the flush still staining his cheeks. As he spoke, the implications of this visit began to crash down on him. Someone had reported him to the ministry for possibly creating dark potions? He knew his less than savory history didn't exactly invite trust in his ability to stay out of the dark arts, but he had few neighbors and the majority of them didn't even know who he was. Even if he was Draco Malfoy, the source had to have some credibility to be investigated, so who had reported him, and under what suspicion?

"No thanks, don't think that'd be particularly professional, now would it Malfoy?" Finnegan said, a deceptively cheerful grin still overwhelming his elvin features. "Accepting a nice relaxing glass of Firewhiskey from an ex Death Eater and Slytherin? Hm," He tsked, grinning, this time just a touch of malice visible. "That would not show the best judgment on my part, no siree."

Draco took a deep breath as he began to see red, the angry swirling as adrenaline through his body. _No, it's entirely too early in a confrontation like this to get angry!_ He chided himself, his grip tightening around the neck of the bottle of Firewhiskey. _Where are your patented Malfoy nerves of steel, the unreadable façade?_ He hated to admit it, but this lack of control unsettled him. He supposed he hadn't been forced to contend with an adversary like this since Hogwarts, yet had his carefully honed skills left him so easily?

Forcing himself to turn around unhurriedly, he meandered to the door in as much of an uncaring fashion as he could muster, swaying his hips to continue the effect. Wracking his brain desperately for a plan of action, he quickly decided on combating him verbally until he was so off-kilter he couldn't tell right from left. He lazily shut the door and spun around, languidly strutting back towards a now slightly flustered Seamus Finnegan. Well. Wasn't this a surprise?

To make sure he wasn't imagining things, Draco stretched, catlike, in a disgustingly exhibitionist manner, his lithe but muscular frame displayed in the most appealing way possible. Draco watched out of the corner of his eye as Seamus's eyes followed the rippling of muscle in his frame, the slight dilation of the Irishman's pupils, and the quick slip of his eyes down to Draco's groin. That coupled with the faint flush and quickly concealed guilt on his face as Draco relaxed back into a regular standing position told him all he needed to know.

Seamus Finnegan played for the other team, and, no matter their past, he found Draco lip-bitingly sexy. Draco smirked. Now this, he could use.

Doing a mental 360, he smoothly strode towards Finnegan, his arse swaying in a most suggestive fashion, and it occurred to him that, since he wasn't, in reality, brewing any dark potions, he didn't need to have any sort of plan of action. Finnegan could search his house, his lab, his greenhouse, not find anything, and leave him to continue languishing in his rancor and Firewhiskey with no harm done. However, as he watched Finnegan visibly gulp at his approach, he decided that this would be simply too much fun to pass up.

"I prefer to stay shirtless in the company of my own furniture, regardless of present company," Draco said mildly, allowing an impish smile to play about his mouth. In his periphery, he saw Finnegan's mouth open as though to object before he shut it again moments later. Shrugging, he followed Draco down through the great room and into the kitchen. Entering his study, Draco waited a moment to make sure Finnegan was almost in the room before turning around.

"You needed to see – oh!" The exclamation came from the shorter man running smack into Draco's chest. The effect was immediate, with the blushing and the terse apology as Draco moved them further into the room. _Yes, _thought Draco, smirking internally at the now obviously disconcerted man, _that worked quite well._

Draco sighed loudly enough for it to be audible to Finnegan as he turned around, a guilty smile pasted on his face.

"Look, you're obviously uncomfortable in my home and are harboring some feelings of a...virulent sort towards me for what I've done in the past. I understand what you're feeling, and I just want you to know that I'm not the person I used to be. I've gone through dramatic changes, and I honestly don't even recognize myself anymore. I don't believe in pureblood supremacy, I don't pray for Harry Potter's death every night in a fit of vengeful rage, I don't even have the mark anymore," he said, gesturing at the blank expanse of skin on his left forearm.

"I regretted that mark the moment I got it, and I wept with joy when I saw it cleansed from my skin. I knew I couldn't undo the wrongs that I had done, but that moment felt like a new beginning for me. I felt as though I had been reborn, given a second chance in life. I tried to make it as such, and I hope you can see past the wrongs of the past into the new man standing before you. I don't know, what with all I've done, if I deserved that second chance…but for some miraculous reason I was granted that new life. I hope I've used this life reincarnation to become someone slightly more deserving of humanity's gifts."

Draco leaned against the desk behind him, suddenly feeling drained and world weary. Somehow, half way through his monologue, the words had stopped being forced and become sincere. Once he started, he couldn't stop, the words flowing from his mouth like water from a spigot, and as he regarded the dumbfounded expression of the Gryffindor in front of him, he couldn't help but feel as though that speech had been building up for years. He meant every word of it.

Finnegan blinked, still looking slightly shell-shocked. "Well…" he started slowly, his jaw working. "That was unexpected I must say…"

Draco nodded in agreement. "I surprised myself as well," he admitted, turning his head to gaze at the greenhouse through the window. The sight, as he knew it would, calmed him greatly.

"But…" Draco heard Finnegan continue, "not so unexpected that I don't believe you," Draco turned to see him smiling sheepishly.

"That was, by far, the closest I've ever seen you come to apologizing, and I mean," he said shrugging, "I can't imagine the Malfoy I knew ever apologizing."

Draco gave him a small smile.

"However, you know I can't trust you completely – not with your history, and especially not with what you might just be trying to get out of," He said, referring to his search of Draco's property.

Draco just shrugged. "I have nothing to hide," he said, gesturing around the room. "Please, search."

And he did. For two long hours, Draco sat on his couch reading Witch Weekly (an unfortunate addiction he'd picked up from Pansy) and sipping his Firewhiskey as Finnegan did a very thorough job of searching through his belongings for any trace of dark magic.

Finally, Finnegan approached Draco's inert form on the couch and announced to it, seeming a bit surprised, the all clear.

"Thank god," Draco grumbled, pulling his unwilling body into a sitting position. He covered his mouth as a massive yawn overtook him, filling his head with static. Through the static, he watched Finnegan's mouth move but hadn't heard a word he said. Shaking his head to clear away the detritus of lethargy, he said "Come again, Finnegan? I didn't hear a single thing you just said."

He flushed, looking uncomfortable. Draco was wondering about the discomfort when he said "Well, there's just one more thing I need to do, but I don't think you'll like it. I have to do a physical and magical screening of your physical being."

Draco took a deep breath and sighed wearily. "Since when has the ministry ever cared about what I felt?" he replied, more than a little bitter. "But honestly, I don't care about this. Just try not to jostle the precious jewels much more than necessary, alright?" he said, this time sending his own rakish wink towards the smaller man.

Finnegan flushed but responded with a seductive purr that rivaled even Draco's own. "Don't worry Malfoy, your precious jewels are very safe with me."

Draco's mouth dropped open slightly, both in surprise and, though he was loath to admit it, even to himself, a little lust as Seamus dropped to his knees before him and began slowly trailing his hands up Draco's leg. Draco shuddered; the touch traveled up through his entire left side, stemming from where Finnegan's fingers were deftly traveling up his leg and branching heat through his stomach and groin. There was none of the fire that he knew could come from another man's touch, but it still felt damn good. Fuck. He let his head fall back, his mouth slightly open and the Irishman began ghosting his fingers along the curve of his arse.

"Well nothing dark I can find here," he murmured, his fingers gently squeezing his arse and leaving him nearly breathless. "But with a reputation like yours, I know I have to investigate all the options," he whispered, his breath following the path of his fingers as they ghosted across the zipper of Draco's trousers. Draco's half-hard state quickly morphed into full on arousal as the Irishman's deft fingers unzipped his trousers to reveal his hard member. Draco braced himself against his broad shoulders as he looked up at Draco and winked, taking his whole member into his mouth. Oh fuck, Finnegan was not inexperienced, Draco thought breathlessly to himself as he moaned at the sensations Draco groaned at the erotic sight of the man kneeling before him, something he had been denied with that blasted blindfold spell on. At the thought of the blindfold spell, memories of his mystery man beneath him sprang unbidden into his mind, another pair of lips around his cock, hands twisted in soft fringe as he was pleasured rather than the rough cloth beneath his fingers. Suddenly, the picture the man on his knees in front of him created that had seemed so erotic only seconds ago felt tainted and wrong. Draco tasted a tang reminiscent of iron in his mouth, and suddenly he couldn't stand to feel Finnegan's mouth on him anymore.

"Fuck, Finnegan, stop!" The other man released his cock from his mouth with a wet pop, looking very much confused. As Draco struggled to zip himself back into his pants, Finnegan's eyes widened and he scrambled up from his place at Draco's feet.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, I got carried away –"

Draco laughed dryly, placing a cool finger on the other man's still wet lips. "No, Finnegan, I'm sorry. First of all, you're very good at that and honestly if it weren't for my morals I would let you finish what you had started." Only half a lie.

"What do you mean your morals?" Finnegan asked suspiciously, though he was obviously pleased by the praise Draco had given him. "You're not some kind of gay hating closet homo are you? Or…holy fuck you have a boyfriend." The man backed away slowly as though it somehow his perverse plot all along to have him suck his dick.

Draco sighed. He should have known that he would have to explain this.

"No. Finnegan, I don't have a boyfriend, and I'm most no closet gay. I just have someone that I - I suppose I care about a lot more than they know, and it hurts me a lot more than I thought it would to imagine doing anything with anyone other than him," he said carefully, realizing the truth of his words as he sank deep into the comfort of the pillows behind him.

"Well shit," Finnegan said succinctly. Plopping down on the couch next to Draco, he adjusted himself discreetly.

"You said it," replied Draco deprecatingly. "I'm really sorry about that, I wasn't thinking," he said to Finnegan whose nose was scrunched up in an admittedly adorable way.

"What the hell do you have to be sorry for? I'm the fucking ministry worker who tried to give a man who he hated until two hours ago and he wasn't even positive was gay a blowjob," Finnegan snorted, his anger giving itself away in his accentuated Irish lilt.

Draco knew it wasn't directed at him, but he still felt the pressure of the emotion as it clouded around the former Gryffindor. Obviously not so former if he let one mistake pollute his whole opinion of himself. To distract him, Draco elbowed him in the ribs and stuck out his hands.

"Here, let's start over. Hello, my name is Draco Malfoy." Finnegan just stared at him as Draco looked at him expectantly.

After a long enough pause to make Draco wonder if he ought to put his hand back down, Finnegan slowly raised his hand to shake Draco's own paler one. "Hello mate, my name's Seamus Finnegan," he said, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he brought Draco's hand to his lips in a courtly gesture. Draco feigned a swoon at the antiquated action, clutching his hand to his still bare chest. Chuckling, Seamus stood, pulling Draco to his feet.

"Alright, I'll be out of your hair soon enough, just have to screen you with my wand."

Draco smirked at his wording, earning himself a jab on the arm. "I'm fairly certain that we established it wasn't that wand a few moments ago," the brown-eyed former pyro grumbled.

Draco just smirked. A soft purple light emanated from the tip of Seamus's wand as he scanned Draco's body. As he reached his feet, the light flickered and died.

"Well that's that," Seamus said, standing up and dusting his hands off. "You're all clear. No dark magic here."

Draco rolled his eyes, refraining to comment that he'd known that the entire two and half hours. Nonetheless, now the ministry knew it as well.

"It was lovely to re-meet you," Draco said, manners ever impeccable as he led Seamus to the door.

"And you as well, of course," he replied, tipping an imaginary hat. "Perhaps I'll see you around?"

"Perhaps."

"Well…if this blighter that you're mentally against fake cheating on ever gets out of your head…let me know," Seamus said with a roguish grin and a wink, and then the door shut behind him and he was gone. The silence of the house suddenly felt oppressive, so Draco quickly let himself out into the backyard and began walking the familiar path to his green house, the brisk air stinging his perpetually cold skin.

He breathed deeply, pulling the fresh scent of autumn into his lungs. After his day, he could use some refreshing. Arriving at the greenhouse, he pulled open the door and inhaled the earthy smell of things growing. Sitting down on the stone bench just within the door, he basked in the warmth of the structure until he felt an inner peace steal over him. He sat that way for at least twenty minutes, simply enjoying the beauty of the day and the magic of the cycle of life until he felt emotionally cleansed.

Or at least, emotionally cleansed enough to begin the arduous process of detangling his dratted feelings.

"I fucking hate emotions," he moaned pitifully, covering his face with his hands.

**AHHH IM SO TIRED I FEEL LIKE THERE A FORTY QUATRILLION PLOT HOLES IN HERE oh well i'll fix them later when its not hm 12:33 in the morning anyways please review and yes my lovelies the next chapter is in the creative processing room (aka it hasnt been started yet but i know what it is. see ya soon darlings!)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello Darlings! Wow it has most certainly been a long time! I went on vacation and to like three different camps, one of which is in New York, and blah blah blah. I'm sure you don't want to read the ramblings of this (late, as usual) author. I've been struggling with writing a little bit lately, so I hope this chapter is up to par...it's felt kind of like pulling teeth, and it doesn't exactly help that I completely forgot the idea that I had before I left on vacation, so I had to completely rethink the plot! It's the wrackspurts, I tell ya. **

**Also I am so sorry I haven't been responding to reviews! This is my first story on here, so, embarrassingly enough, I just figured out how to respond to reviews last week. I'm great at this aren't I. So thank you so much, and Enjoy!**

Two weeks had passed since Neville Longbottom had refused to sell Draco Malfoy potion ingredients. It had also been two weeks since Neville had reported him to the ministry on suspicion of harboring dark potions and magic in his home. It had been one week since he had received a ministry notice saying that Draco Malfoy had no dark items languishing in hidden corners in his home and had actually received glowing comments on his attitude from the man who had paid his home a visit.

Neville felt terrible.

As he had sat at his kitchen table, post yelling at Malfoy through the fire place about not wanting him to die creating a potion, he had decided without compunction (or reason) that Malfoy had been lying about wanting to create Elfogadás, the acceptance potion, and his true aim was to create Lögner. This incredibly dark potion, in which the Venomous Tentacula hearts that Malfoy had been trying to purchase were the main ingredient, gave the drinker an incredibly powerful seizure if they ever lied to the administrator of the potion. Often leading to brain damage, chronic paranoia, and seizure without the influence of the potion, it was the sadist's Veritaserum.

This jumping to conclusions was very unlike the generally thoughtful man, and as he sat back on his heels in front of the fireplace after ending the firecall with Ron Weasley informing him of the search results, the rage he had felt so clearly in the previous two weeks began to seem horrendously childish. Pulling himself up on stiff legs, he half waddled half walked to the imposing dining room table. Luna's father had given it to them one Christmas, and excepting the fur (occasionally requiring trimming) that grew up its legs, it was a surprisingly tasteful and practical gift. At least, practical coming from Xenophilius.

Neville relaxed into one of the tall backed chairs and absentmindedly began stroking the fur covering the table leg as he thought. The front door of his spacious flat opened and shut, a blast of cold air bustling into his home followed by a burst of city noise accompanying the fall weather invasion.

"Neville, are you home?" he heard the soft voice of his girlfriend call to him.

"I'm in here, Luna," he called softly, smiling at her arrival. Though they had been together since the end of the war, Neville still hadn't been able to come up with the courage to propose to her, although she had never really seemed to mind. The years had done her a lot of good. Other than the perpetually dreamy sound of her voice and the occasional mention of a creature of dubious origins, Luna was no longer "Loony Lovegood". The radish earrings rarely made an appearance, and her shoes were (generally) found only in their hall closet, although the Dirigible Plums on their balcony were in good health.

"You should really shave your beard," Luna commented from behind him, snaking her arms around his shoulders and leaning her head against him. "The wrackspurts have gotten caught in it again; that's why you've been feeling strangely."

Neville smiled as he leaned into her familiar scent of chamomile and mint; despite her outlandish reasoning, Luna always knew when something was wrong.

"That may be so," he said, fingering the scruff, "but it's true; I have been feeling strangely. Will you take a walk with me?"

She smiled dreamily and nodded, her long hair hanging about her like beautiful golden vines. Neville grinned. Even just seeing her made him feel like everything was…righter in the world. Twirling her around, he laughed as she shrieked and began to giggle. Picking her up, Neville spun her in a circle until they were breathlessly laughing and hopelessly dizzy. Pulling her flush against him, he tilted her head up and captured her mouth in a lingering kiss.

Pulling away, he looked at her silently, his lips quirked into a half smile. Luna's luminescent turquoise eyes looked back at him playfully.

"It seems you're searching for the mysteries of life in my eyes, but I'm afraid you won't find them there," she said quietly, smiling.

"Not true," Neville whispered back, as though divulging a secret. Leaning in close to her ear, he breathed, "I found the answers to the mysteries in _my_ life, and that's all that matters."

He leaned into her, luxuriating in her warmth and the sensation of her arms around him. "I love you so much," he murmured, the words muffled by her shoulder. "I love you too," he heard her say, her breath ghosting across his hair. They stayed like that for a few moments, just enjoying the embrace. Pulling apart reluctantly, they grabbed their coats, sending glances and small smiles covertly at each other. Leaving their flat, they exited the building into a brisk autumn day, the sun shining gaily down on them.

Slipping her hand into his, Luna smiled up at him and they walked together in companionable silence, listening to the honking from the traffic on the streets, laughing softly at the single-minded intense of those around them as they rushed to and from their homes, thinking only of where they were going and what they needed to do. All of these people existed only in their own world. They never stopped, never took a moment to even realize what they were missing; the sound of leaves crinkling underfoot on the sidewalks, the warmth of the sun radiating from a sky the color of a tropical ocean. It was days like this that his forbidding grandmother had put on her hat, complete with stuffed Vulture (a gift from her best friend; she was a taxodermist), and brought him down to the corner store to buy him an ice cream. They would walk around their small town, her purchasing groceries, visiting the local owlery, buying office supplies, and him following, slowly eating his treat. These were some of the few fond memories he had of the woman who had raised him, and it was only on days like this that he looked to the sky and thanked her for everything that she had done for him.

Lost in his thoughts, Neville sat slowly on the stone bench located in the middle of the community gardens they had wandered into as was their custom. Luna leaned her head on his shoulder, and they watched the koi in the fish pond across the path from them, their bright colors in tandem with the burbling of the waterfall bringing a zen-like oneness to the area. He knew he would have been content to stay there for ages, if not for the niggling feeling still inhabiting the back of his head. He knew what it was: guilt. He also knew that he would have to contend with the emotion soon or it would begin to fester, causing all sorts of side effects including, but not limited to, excess sleeping, yelling, and stress eating.

"I've done something that I really shouldn't have done. It was based off old prejudices and I didn't think before I did it, and now I really don't know how to fix it," Neville said quickly, looking everywhere but his girlfriend.

"Well, not knowing what you did, I would say that the first course of action would be to apologize. An apology always helps," she said pithily.

Neville grimaced at the thought of confessing to Malfoy that it had been he who had reported him to the ministry. Yes, by the way Malfoy, I refused to sell you the Tentacula hearts on the grounds that I didn't want you getting killed, and then I reported you to the ministry so they would search your home, because I was quite sure that you were going use the hearts to create a sadistically dark potion. Really sorry about the inconvenience, mate, promise it won't happen again. Hey, now do you still want those hearts? _Yes_, Neville snorted, _that would go over quite well._

But wait…the hearts. Yes, that was an idea. A quite good idea! Neville stood up quickly, knocking over a small bronze statue with a loud clang and unceremoniously flinging Luna's head off of its pillow. Stuttering apologies and thanks to his perplexed girlfriend, he stumbled backwards and began to run.

"Neville, wait –

"Sorry love, I need to do something! I'll see you back at the flat!" Neville called over his shoulder as he jogged quickly out of the gardens.

He had a firecall to make.

v

_He is standing in a field, surrounded on all sides by tall grass. The sky overhead is slate grey, the earth beneath his feet hard and unforgiving. The grasses sway eerily, tickling his hands, although he feels no wind. A feeling of wrongness pervades the desolate place, surrounding him, stifling his breath. _

_He is alone._

_He feels as though he ought to be used to it by now, the aloneness. Yet still, the feeling is oppressive, rising up through his body, vines of oily shadows snaking through his bones, slowly choking, constricting him. Hot bile rises into his mouth as his chest tightens, and he wills himself not to panic. Panic will do him no good; this he knows. The grasses continue their ethereal dance, the serrated tips a mere tickling against his fingers leaving near invisible cuts beaded with ruby droplets. The drops shimmer more than they ought to in the low light, quivering at the tips of his scarred hands before breaking their tenuous connection and falling to paint the fronds with macabre strands of scarlet. The whispering of the blades whipping past each other in the invisible wind makes his muscles seize, every tendon taut as a bow string, ready to snap. Suddenly a sharp wind springs up, as though spawned from the flowing of the blades around him. It twists, spiraling lazily about his emaciated frame, nipping at his clothes, his weakened frame threatening to fall under its tendrils. The gust twirls about him in an almost-caress against his long-neglected skin. _

_"__You're not good enough," it whispers seductively, a thousand different voices overlapping and twisting and diving over each other, desperate to be heard. "You've never been good enough." He nods spastically as the wind picks up speed, his hair whipping about his face; he knows. He's known for a long time. "You're worthless," it snarls, the voices twining together viciously, a macabre sort of harmony. He is shaking. He knows! He knows! "YOU WERE NEVER GOOD ENOUGH! YOU COULDN'T SAVE THEM!" The voices scream, hoarse and keening. The wind pushes him to his knees on the hard ground. His eyes are shut now, hot tears ripped from beneath his eyelids before they can fall. His sobs echo silently in the shrieks of the gales. The wrenching cries tear from the bottom of his damaged soul, his hands tear at his hair, scratching frantically at his face as though he could tear off his identity. The voices' keening reaches a fever pitch. The voices spin faster and faster around him, flickering all at once into visibility to create an endless mass of black shadowthreads, writhing and shrieking the torments of their tortured souls. The discordant melodies grate on his already frail sanity, all that is him held together in the tenuous grip of a brittle cord riddled with pockmarks and scars. The threads invade his ears, snaking through his conscience, whispering lies and deceit in sugary tones. He bucks and thrashes against their hold, his body contorting, each muscle and tendon stark against his pallid skin. He strains. He is gasping for breath, fighting for each inflation of lungs against the iron vise around his chest. His head is thrown back, his neck taut as he struggles to overcome the demonic infiltrators._

_The cord snaps._

_He whips forward, vomiting blood. With each convulsion, his strength is stolen away from him, piece by piece, the voices ripping and tearing at his soul. The field becomes an ocean, a vermillion sea shining with the reflections of death and destruction. He is drowning. He is no longer flailing, lying weak and useless against the scarlet tide and his shadowy captors. He is being pulled under, and he finds he longer cares. Nearly all of his body is under now, his head facing upwards as he sinks. He is defeated. He feels as though he should say goodbye to the world with dignity; at least this he owes to a planet that took so much from him. He opens his eyes. Luminous red eyes meet his, full of malice. He screams. _

Harry sat straight up in bed, black dots floating in his vision, pressing both hands against his chest against the pressure of the vise-like feeling that had accompanied him from the dream into the waking world. He sucked in a single breath of cool air, the oxygen catching in his lungs as he began to cough, a violent hacking outburst that had his already shaking body trembling like a leaf. The hoarse expulsions of air scraped his throat, already raw from screaming, feeling akin to what he imagined it felt like to forcibly remove a cheese grater from his lungs. By way of his throat. The coughing eventually subsided to a stuttering wheeze, allowing Harry to gratefully inflate his lungs completely with air. Slumping back against his damp pillows, he dimly realized the pain in his chest had been caused by an absence of air. He hadn't been breathing.

Harry stumbled out of bed, flinging the covers away to rid himself of the suffocating heat. Tremors were running through his whole body, and it took him three tries to open the window lock his fingers were shaking so badly. Pushing the window open, he folded down onto the floor, a marionette whose strings had been cut by some malicious god. He dropped his head against the window sill, welcoming the pain as it hit the sharp edge of the sill. At least that pain was real. He sat there, eyes closed, the cold night air drying the clamminess from his skin, the familiar city noise calming his racing heart. He must have sat like that for an hour, unmoving, until exhaustion over took him again, and he drifted back into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

Harry awoke the next morning to goosebumps on his skin, a crick in his neck, and a pigeon on his head. With a decidedly unmanly shriek, he batted it off his head, sending the disgruntled bird sailing out his window. The window slammed shut and the curtains snapped shut across the panes. Harry blinked. He hadn't meant to do that. He stood up slowly, rubbing the knot on his head absentmindedly. He grabbed his glasses from the bedside table, jamming them on his nose. He hadn't done accidental magic like that in a long while. He knew logically that the outburst had been caused by the dream he'd had…and yet. Harry had been dealing with those dreams for years, but fortunately, in the years since he'd graduated from Hogwarts, they had significantly declined in number. The fuckers generally only flashed their ugly visages when he was under severe anxiety or stress. And even then, they didn't normally cause any sort of magical outpouring.

As he drifted towards the shower to remove residue-of-pigeon from his hair, he pondered the probable causes of the dream. His job had been hard of late, he knew, but it had never been intense enough to cause dreams like that, or…wait. Scorpius. Meeting. Emotions. Three more days. Duh. He groaned aloud. How could he have possibly forgotten? A sweat broke out on his palms to match the palpitations of his heart at the mere thought of it.

_Ugh._

Harry banished the thoughts from his mind. In that moment, his sole purpose was well fitting for The Savior of The Wizarding World. To remove the blight of pigeon refuse from the world.

_Perhaps I'll change my title from __**The Boy Who Likes It Up The Arse**__ to __**Vanquisher of Pigeons**__. Or perhaps __**Aquaman, Shower Edition**__, _he mused.

Entering the bathroom, he stared longingly at the tub before shaking himself and moving on to the just as richly appointed shower. Turning the knob onto full blast at the highest heat, Harry stepped smoothly out of his sleeping trousers and stepped under the stream. He hissed as the scalding liquid hit the small rents in his scalp, mentally cursing the lack of common courtesy among British pigeons; after all, he knew he certainly hadn't _invited_ the bloody thing.

Fortunately, the stinging pain lasted only a moment, and he melted into the heated spray. The universe must have been feeling kindly towards him, seeing as the finicky plumbing system had gifted him with enough water pressure to accost the tension in his back. The tightness in his muscles fought valiantly against its foe, but at last yielded into submission against the more powerful enemy.

Grabbing his nearly empty bottle of tea tree shampoo, Harry squeezed a dollop of the opaque green liquid directly onto his abused head and massaged the soap into a foamy lather. Carefully avoiding the egg-sized bump on his head from his encounter with the window sill, Harry rinsed the silky bubbles out his hair, breathing in the familiarly biting scent of eucalyptus and mint. The white foam slipped from his hair and streamed down his body, gone in a swirl of silky white bubbles, off to travel unnoticed beneath the feet of thousands of Londoners, flowing easily through the catacombs of the sewers. The ever-changing swirl was mesmerizing…he sincerely wished he could wash his problems down the drain right along with it.

Damn his anxiety. Damn it back to whatever stagnant hellhole it resided in within his head. He leaned his forehead against the shower wall in defeat.

"I need a good fuck," he muttered to himself, as he attempted to massage his own shoulders. Ironic that the only one that could possibly give him the fuck he needed was the cause of all the stress.

With a glance at the golden knob, Harry flicked the water off in a rare demonstration of wandless magic. He stepped out of the shower, the charmed floor making sure the water that ran in little rivulets off his body evaporated before it could gather into puddles. Grabbing a towel from the rack, he dried himself quickly and pulled on his "moping sweats" as Hermione had long ago dubbed them. Swinging the towel over his shoulders, he ambled down the stairs and into the kitchen. He was munching forlornly on a piece of toast when the fireplace dinged.

"Incoming call from; Ron Weasley," The fireplaced intoned.

He flicked his wand to accept the call. "Who dares interrupt my pity party?" Harry drawled at the fireplace in a deep voice.

"Only your best mate with the best news you've heard all day," Ron replied with a shit eating grin.

"Your enthusiasm is grating,"

"Oh come on! This is great, I promise you'll think so too."

"I'm sorry, Harry Potter is not available, he is too busy moping. Try again later or leave a message at the beep. _Beeeeep_." Harry deadpanned.

Ron stared at him. "That must be some weird muggle thing," he replied, looking thoroughly confused. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Anyways," Ron continued, "As I was saying…Draco Malfoy needed a potions ingredient, right? He tried to buy it Neville, and he was all like 'oh no, he's a dark wizard, he's probably using it to mutate kittens or something', not that I blame him at all for that thought -"

Harry rolled his eyes again and resumed the consumption of his toast.

"-but anyways," Ron chattered away animatedly, "Neville called the ministry and was like 'Merlin's saggy tits! Malfoy is making an evil potion!' So of course, we all jumped at the chance to bust the ferret in the most irritating way possible, so we sent Seamus to investigate -"

Harry snorted at that.

"-and it turns out we were bloody wrong about the git!"

Harry choked on his toast.

"Yah that's kind of what I did," Ron said over the coughing. He looked thoughtful for a moment, "Except it was a pork chop, not toast."

Harry glared at him with watering eyes, motioning as to what exactly Ron could do with that pork chop.

Ron flipped him off cheerfully. "So yeah, Seamus was there and he came back saying every single reading was clean, and he couldn't find anything of 'shift origins' in the house. He said Malfoy has really changed, like he was being weirdly nice and he said something about 'proving his good character'. I don't really know what he meant by that but anyways, Neville felt really, really bad about the whole 'I don't trust you' thing so he firecalled the office and asked us to do him a favor." Ron stopped and looked at Harry expectantly.

"What was that?" Harry said, legitimately curious.

"Ha! Told you you'd like it!" Ron grinned happily.

"Yah well stop rubbing it in a keep talking," Harry replied, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.

"Fine, fine, okay Neville was guilt tripping, so he asked us if the ministry would send the Tentacula hearts, that's what he needed, to Malfoy for him as sort of a 'Halloween Gift". That sounded alright to me, but then we got this fabulous idea."

"Oh?" Harry said, quirking an eyebrow.

Ron grinned evilly. "Oh boy did we."

They talked for close to an hour, Harry's half eaten toast abandoned. As Ron's head disappeared from the floo with a cheery "Later mate," Harry stood up and stretched his cramped muscles. This provided an interesting opportunity…first, of course, the chance to see Malfoy again without the awkwardness of…history…between them. He felt a zing through his stomach as memories of _that night_ popped unbidden into his mind's eye. With a groan, he banished them. Yet still, he was interested in seeing not only how Malfoy had changed physically, but also how he had changed as a person. Sure he had kissed the blond, but that didn't mean his opinion of Malfoy's personality had changed. Much. According to Harry, Draco Malfoy was still a pointy, irritating, callous, conceited, blond, fit, gorgeous…uh…pureblood, ex Death Eater.

_This, _he thought, _is just the distraction I need_

**Peace out dudes! Hope you liked this chapter, and a quick question. Did you like that angsty bit I stuck in there, the dream? I was kind of experimenting with horror writing, and if it's any good and people would read it, I have a pretty good idea (or two) for an angsty fic. Or maybe I should just do a ficlet...I am so bad with deadlines on full length fics. Anyways, review as always and let me know! Thanks! xxx**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey guys! I am so sorry about not updating, but you know the deal, busy with school, writer's block, yada yada yada. Anyways, sorry for the short chapter but you know I figured I shouldn't make you guys wait and plus it's very smutty so shush**

Draco stared meditatively into the bottle of Firewhiskey on his desk in front of him, idly twirling his shot glass between his fingers. He was trying to ignore the aching in his groin. Though he had been so far successful, the alcohol had not flagged the erection as he had hoped it would; in fact, it had merely exacerbated the problem. Alcohol _always_ had brought his mental barriers down, and he truly ought to know that about himself, especially after that unfortunate cactus incident. Now everything around him, every minor distraction, led to an erotic vision that played havoc on his libido. Candles were not supposed to go there, now or ever, no matter what his dick thought he should do. He refused to take care of himself. He wanted another man's hand on him, the rough sounds of heavy breathing in his ear, a mouth on his. He wanted it desperately.

Draco groaned needily, palming his erection when his hand drifted, seemingly of its own accord, to stroke his length. Hands shaking with want, he hastily unzipped his pants and, grabbing his erection, twisting his hand painfully around the shaft as he pumped once, twice, three times. His hand stilled. His whole body felt jittery, strung up on lust and want. He wanted…he wanted…no he _needed_ to be fucked and he needed it now. And god dammit but he wanted James to do it, to restrain him with muscle bound arms, pulling his shoulders back to the point of almost pain, to fuck him with abandon, harsh words and guttural moans. He wanted to be slammed against the wall, onto the bed, to be marked over and over and over again however James wanted to mark him so he could look at his body in the days after and shiver with the thought that not only was James Draco's, but Draco was James's. His body was shaking visibly now, the very fiber of his being was tearing itself apart, straining, searching for the man that could satisfy its needs.

_That's it_, Draco thought, and sprung up from the chair as though on a loaded spring, and reached for parchment. He wrote only eight words, but he felt his message had been thoroughly conveyed. A bundle of frenetic energy, he grabbed his coat and turned around quickly, banging hard into the desk with a dull thump. Cursing colorfully, he apparated in a flurry of blonde hair and scarf leaving the study quiet, his abandoned quill wafting serenely to the floor.

_I need you to fuck me. Come now. _

The words zinged straight to Harry's groin as he read the note. It was not signed, but it didn't need to be. A fire that had been slowly burning for days in his lower belly roared to life, sending blood south at a rate that made him gasp. He threw on a shirt and some shoes, not even bothering to change out of his moping sweats (which he'd been wearing interchangeably with his brooding sweats for a week), and apparated away, leaving a half drunk butterbeer and a very disgruntled owl perched on his counter.

The door of the small room banged open, and at once Draco found himself pressed forcefully against the wall, a tongue invading his mouth. He melted into the other man's arms with a moan. His knees buckled as a wave of electricity fired in sharp, choppy waves from his head down to his toes. Sparks shot haphazardly from synapse to synapse, originating from every place James brushed against him as Draco attempted to hold himself up, nails scrabbling for purchase against James's shirt. He felt a rough grip around his wrists and his arms were yanked upwards, restraining him.

He was painfully aware of his engorged cock as he pressed himself wantonly against the solid man pressing open mouthed kisses down his chest. The blood was pounding against his ears and he knew he must look like a fucking whore, but he couldn't make himself care.

"So you want to be fucked, huh?" his voice was a delicious rumble against Draco's ear. Draco nodded fiercely, his mouth falling open with a strangled gasp when James ground his hips once fiercely against Draco's throbbing erection. The pain from his restrained arms put him on edge, every nerve wound tight, thrumming wildly with each touch. The hands around his wrists tightened and a cry tore itself loudly from Draco's lips as James's nipped his neck. Stubble scraped deliciously against his neck, the itch and burn sated by the hot, wet mouth that sucked fiercely on the love bite.

"Say it," he growled, and nipped him again.

"Ahhhnnnyeesss!" Draco cried desperately, writhing against the smaller man's tight grip, thrusting desperately to find more of the friction that had punished him in its brevity. A mouth crashed down on his and he responded eagerly. The air was crackling with such raw power and lust that Draco felt he could have seen it, if he could see anything at all. The grip around his wrists suddenly disappeared, leaving Draco to cling desperately to James's broad shoulders as he spun around, moving with obvious purpose towards the bed with long strides.

Draco burrowed deep into the soft skin of the other man's neck, his tongue darting out to taste the salt that had gathered there. He had only a moment to revel in the purr he had elicited before he was thrown unceremoniously on the bed. His trousers and pants were whisked off, his cock falling heavily on his stomach, and his shirt was once again ripped from his chest, calloused fingers caressing, twisting, teasing…Draco's fingers twisted into the covers as he arced upwards into the touches. He was dizzy with lust, the want burning through his veins, an unquenchable fire.

"Some dom you are, huh," Harry said smirking down towards Scorpius as he ran his fingers lightly down the unraveling man's chest.

"I'll bet I could make you come without even touching you." Harry said with wonder, almost losing himself in the thought. He forced himself to focus; he was not the important one tonight.

"But not now. Lucky for you, I'm thinking perhaps a little,,, punishment is in order."

The man beneath him couldn't even respond, the silhouette writhing, beautifully desperate.

"Flip over," he commanded, his voice husky with his own want. The silhouette complied, displaying the gorgeous curve of his arse. "You're beautiful, you know, with your arse displayed like that, spread out for me," he said, gazing almost reverently as he shrugged out of his own shirt. Freed from the cotton prison, he caressed the rounded cheeks gently before laying a resounding smack to the sensitive skin.

"Aahhhhnnnfuuuuckk!" The cry tore from Scorpius's throat, his body shaking as Harry soothed the heated skin with his palm.

_Smack._

"AAaaahhyess, yesss!" He hissed.

_Smack._

"_Yess_, s-so good, fuck, please,"

_Smack_

"Aahfuckyes!_"_

"_Incarcerous."_

Ropes of silvery magic snaked around Scorpius's slim wrists and ankles, solidifying into rope. His ankles were bound apart, spread eagling him, helpless and twisting against his ties. Harry could see the man's body shaking with lust, lust for him. A deep burn surged through his body, and he knew he couldn't take it any longer. He was ravenous. His trousers tore at the seams with a burst of magic, and Harry thought he remembered to mutter the preparation spell before he slammed deep into the enveloping heat of the other man. The reaction was immediate and loud as Scorpius howled in pain-pleasure, and Harry gasped but never stilled. He set a punishing rhythm, forcing Scorpius's body and face deep into the mattress, muffling his cries. Harry seized his hair, pulling his head up by the silky strands.

"I want to hear you scream," he growled, tugging harshly. Never had Harry ever hated the blinding charm any more than he did right at this instant. He wanted to see the pink O of Scorpius's lips as he cried out for Harry, he wanted to see the lust fire in his eyes. The other man complied willingly to Harry's demand with a drawn out cry only accentuated by the slapping of Harry's pelvis against his arse. It was a primal sort of music that surrounded them, filling them with a wild rhythm that circled, dancing manically, driving them wild. It stoked the fire burning within them, coasting up, higher and higher until Scorpius shattered with a loud cry and seized up, back arched upward as he came. Harry slammed into the other man's spasming body, sheathing himself completely in the scalding heat and came with a cry of his own, shuddering with his release.

He collapsed on top of Scorpius, breathing in the smell of lilacs and sex, a heady combination. With a muttered spell the ropes that had bound Scorpius disappeared. Harry nuzzled the back of the man's neck and was rewarded with a gentle mewl. Harry chuckled lightly and gently pulled out of him. He smirked a little at the hiss it caused; Scorpius would definitely feel where he'd been tomorrow. He muttered a quick cleaning spell that filled the air with the distinct sharp smell of antiseptic charms. He frowned, already missing the lilac smell. He stretched lithely with a satisfied groan, settling into the loose-limbed post-coital glow that he loved. Looking down at the beautiful man strewn across the bed, he grinned. He reached out, running a hand gently down the gentle curve of his spine, the skin there soft and velvety. Scorpius hummed languidly, a purr from deep in his throat. _He really is beautiful_, Harry thought suddenly as he trailed his fingers down to the divots in his lower back_. Not handsome or cute…beautiful. _

He dropped a quick kiss onto the delicate skin of Scorpius's lower back and climbed onto the bed beside him. He gently shifted Scorpius to his apparent displeasure as he made a sort of "how could you" growl deep in his throat. Harry grinned in spite of himself as he pulled the covers over them both. "You sound like a dragon," he murmured, pulling the other man flush to his body, snaking an arm over his chest. "My little dragon," he whispered, his eyes pulling shut.

"How did you know?" the other man replied sleepily, but Harry had already slipped off into oblivion.


	14. Chapter 14

**Hey guys! If you read the teaser, here's the awaited chapter! I really am sorry it's taking me so long to write everything, I am soooo slow. Anyways enjoy!**

Draco was warm. Too warm really. It felt like he was wrapped in a dozen blankets, all of them charmed with warmth spells. Draco tugged his eyes open, blinking slowly, his surroundings coming into focus around him. He saw unfamiliar red sheets and a black dresser, the sunlight coming in from a high window highlight dust motes in the air. _Where the fuck am I? _he thought vacantly, staring uncomprehendingly at the room that was most certainly not his own lavender and white themed master suite with heated floors and artfully arranged decor. He attempted to fling the covers back to relieve himself of the stifling heat, but found his movements obstructed by a heavy, tanned arm.

_Ohhhhhh fuck._

Everything came rushing back all at once; the lust, the slapping, the fucking, the begging…oh god the begging. Draco's face warmed with mortification; he had told his mystery man he never bottomed, and there he was, begging for it up the ass like some common prostitute. And his mystery man had complied…oh merlin had he complied. Draco's face was still warm as he stared vacantly at the white washed ceiling, but it wasn't from embarrassment as a zing of electricity shot through his body at the memory of James's cock buried in him to the hilt…

Wait. The white ceiling..._ Holy fuck._

It hit Draco like a bowling ball from the sky; _the blindfold spell was gone._ It must have worn off sometime in the night, and although he wasn't sure that was really supposed to happen, it meant that…

_He could see._

And if he could see, he could also see the owner of the arm who happened to be suffocating him with his insane body heat. _He could see James!_

Draco stared down at the tanned arm wrapped loosely around his waist. He followed its muscular contours with his eyes, noting the scattering of pale white scars marring the olive skin underneath a fine layer of dark hair. The hand was large and powerful, flexing and twitching in the man's sleep, with obvious wand calluses and yet more scars. These were a working man's hands, unlike his own. Although he was no longer the coddled child he had once been, he was still a pureblood and therefore took his skin care very seriously. This rendered his hands soft as though he had never done a day's work, a quality still striven for among the pureblood society. So_, not that it mattered_, he told himself, did this mean that his mystery man was a halfblood? Or even a muggleborn? He reached up slowly, careful not to wake James, and softly swept the tips of his fingers down James's hand, feeling the coarse calluses beneath his fingertips. Feeling strangely self-conscious, he gently laced his fingers with the other man's. Their fingers molded together, olive against pale, a distinct contrast and yet oddly perfect.

Draco's heart was fluttering, little bird wings fluttering erratically, and he had an odd feeling in his chest; sort of tight and constricted. He slowly moved his eyes up the elbow to the muscular shoulder, inch by painfully long inch. He paused as he saw a flash of unruly black hair over the curve of the shoulder. There was no longer a sparrow taking residence in his chest; it had become a full fledged rhino, banging painfully against his ribs. He had no idea why; he ought to be excited to see James, to know the face of the man whom he had fucked and who had now fucked him. And yet, his heart continued to race and his palms to sweat. He swallowed convulsively, flopping his head onto the pillow to stare at the ceiling. He could feel the man's naked body against his back, could feel the contours of muscle and the tickle of his breath in heated puffs against Draco's neck. All he needed to do was turn around…_Ah fuck it_, he thought with certainty and carefully hoisted the dead weight of the man's arm up so he could turn over. Readjusted on his other side, Draco carefully repositioned the limb over him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them.

_Holy merlin…._

He found himself face to face with a wet dream. His mystery man was gorgeous.  
Absolutely, positively, drop-dead gorgeous. Draco hungrily followed the strong curve of his jaw, covered in designer stubble, to his deep red lips, slightly pouted open in sleep, past the aquiline length of his nose to a strong brow and inky black hair falling in unruly, just-fucked waves over his forehead, devouring him with his eyes. His closed eyes were framed with long lashes that curled against high but strong cheekbones. His eyes were wide as a trembling hand reached up, seemingly of its own accord, to stroke James's cheek, the stubble deliciously rough against the back of his hand. "You are fucking gorgeous," he whispered to the sleeping man. Draco imagined he saw a gentle smile curve across his lips. Suddenly the man's breath caught, and his arm tightened briefly around Draco. James's stretched lithely and fell back against the pillow, his face inches from Draco's.

"Good morning," he murmured, smiling languidly, though his eyes were still closed, the effort of opening them obviously entirely too much for seconds after awakening. Draco smiled shakily and did what any other man in a situation like that would do; he panicked.

He sprang out of bed, gasping as the cool air hit his superheated skin. He heard a blurry exclamation from the bed, but didn't pause to hear what it was. "Sorry, got to run, I slept in way longer than I meant to, I've got work to get to, you know, I've got a business to run, potions and ingredients to sell," he babbled breathlessly, quickly pulling on clothes from the discarded piles on the floor.

"Are you alright?" James's asked from the bed, sounding concerned. "You sound a bit….frenzied. Oh fuck, did I go too far last night? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," the other man sounded worried, his normally velvety baritone a bit froggy with sleep. _Fuck, shut up, _Draco told his brain firmly as he slid his arms through his shirt, buttoning it with shaking fingers.

"Oh no, of course not, I just, you know, work and I'm late and fuck, I'll owl you later, alright?" He said, sounding a bit crazed even to his own ears. He ran around the small room, grabbing his wand and his jacket, trying, not particularly successfully, not to bump into things as he ran for the third time into the damn desk with an assortment of colorful curses. Why the fuck did they need a desk in a fucking sex room anyway? If people wanted office fantasies they could transfigure a damn desk, and if they positively needed it, then they could at least hide it in the abyss of The Closet where he would never slam his goddamn shin into it again.

"Scorpius, are you sure you're – " James began, but Draco cut him off with a hasty "I'll owl you, I promise," and ran out of the room, snapping the door shut behind him. As soon as he was out of the door, he tugged his fingers roughly through his hair in exasperation. _What the fuck was that?! _He yelled mentally at himself. _You just realized you've been fucking the hottest guy you've ever seen in your entire life and you panic for no reason and run out of there like a bat out of the fucking forbidden forest. You must have been dropped on your head as a child,_ he berated himself as he hurried through the convoluted halls that constituted the sex bar. However, casting a quick tempus charm, he quickened his pace when he realized that he hadn't exactly been lying when he said he was running late. Wait, why was he walking again? He groaned. That man's model looks were clearly still scrambling his brain; he hadn't shown this much groan-worthy idiocy in a few years. It was either that or blame the nargles, and he'd already sounded insane enough this morning for a few weeks thank-you-very-much. Growling at his untied shoe, he apparated with a faint pop.

Harry was confused. Harry was extraordinarily confused. Ever since Scorpius's dramatic and sudden exit that morning had left him confused as hell in an empty room, he had been chasing his thoughts in circles trying to understand why the man had left so quickly and so…_oddly._ However, seeing as his most viable explanation was that Scorpius had awoken suddenly to find that he had grown a large, flamboyantly rainbow tail and was so mortified that he felt his only option was to flee, the only thing his mental chasing had led to was a mild case of mental dizziness that had plagued him all throughout his shift at the hospital. Mental Dizziness: a feeling of fuzzy thoughts and impaired concentration. Symptoms: being unable to get his brain to stop thinking about what he possibly could have done to make Scorpius leave so quickly, not to mention stop cropping up with extremely distracting thoughts about Scorpius's naked body. It truly wasn't a rewarding cycle.

oOo

Harry traveled through the halls of St Bridgett's on autopilot, nodding absentmindedly at coworkers, fulfilling his duties in a haze. Not even the bizarre case of the man who began sprouting eyes at a rapid pace could distract him, and normally cases like that piqued his interest. He was simply too distracted. Colorful trains of thought ran through his head, little blurs of color around and around. Had he done something wrong? Had he been too rough? Did Scorpius regret ever having sex with him? What if he never wanted to see him again? Harry's stomach dropped every time that thought blur made an appearance for reasons he didn't want to think about. He sighed, feeling world weary. All of a sudden, a flash of color caught his eye. He frowned, looking around him for the source. Not seeing anything odd in the barren hallway, he shrugged, attributing it to his overactive imagination. A second flash of color zipped by, this time accompanied by the faint zing of a spell. He paused, narrowing his eyes. This time he knew it wasn't his imagination.

Someone was aiming for him.

His heart responded with a familiar thumping against his chest, pumping his veins with adrenaline, ready for battle. Pulling out his wand, he carefully scanned the hallway, circling over his shoulder, hyperalert for any signs of movement. A flicker to his left; he whirled around, sending a blast of magic towards the movement. The spell bounced harmlessly off the stone wall, ricocheting off the floor before the sparks dissipated with a faint sizzle. He jumped around just as a blast of red light shot towards him from where he had seen the movement. The spell hit him, and he stiffened, expecting pain. Nothing happened. Puzzled, he looked around him. Had the spell missed? Then, a flash of color caught his eye. He whipped his head down, wand at the ready to defend from another spell, but he saw nothing except his own tie dye scrubs. Wait.

"Teresa!" he yelled crossly. "Get out here right now."

He heard a loud sputtering followed by gales of laughter emanating from the corner. "You should have seen your face," his raven haired friend gasped, bent over laughing. "You were totally like "Oh someone has come to attack my manliness, I must protect it at all costs," she grunted, slinging her weight forward. She began thumping around like a midget Viking, grunting manly things like "my balls are made of steel," and "see my rippling biceps ripple!"

"I think the manliness boat sailed when I realized I like it up the arse," Harry remarked dryly over her strutting, crossing his arms over his chest. He was not amused. He sighed heavily, casting a quick tempus charm. He was not in the mood for the spritely woman's antics today…he just wanted to go home. His whole body felt as though it was encased in concrete, each step a momentous effort. To be so incredibly high the night before and so low just the day after…the havoc Scorpius was wreaking on his emotions and his psyche was terrifying, not to mention the mere realization that it _was_ the man's rejection that was bringing him down didn't exactly help his mood. Teresa seemed to sense this eventually, as she ceased her grunting and strutting, though she was clearly not ready to completely abandon her fun as she skipped over to Harry. "Is my ickle wittle Harrykins in a bad mood?" she cajoled, pinching his cheeks.

Harry scowled darkly, batting her hands away. "As a matter of a fact yes, so first change my scrubs back, and secondly go away." Teresa began to pout, sticking her bottom lip out and widening her eyes just so. Harry just stared at her. He was too drained and too confused to deal with her shit right now. He loved her, he really did, she just was sometimes…a little bit too much. "But Harry, I just-" Teresa trailed off, faltering under the sheer pain and frustration behind the blank stare Harry aimed at her. She dropped the pout and quietly returned his scrubs to their normal mint green color. Harry turned robotically to leave, but paused when a warm hand gently gripped his forearm. He turned back around slowly, suddenly exhausted. "What Teresa, what is it?" he sighed, staring down at her. Warm blue eyes looked up at him. "You're not okay, are you?" she said gently.

"No," Harry said softly. "I'm not."

The words shattered the crumbling dam in his mind, breaking the tenuous hold he had strained to maintain over his emotions. Down tumbled all the stress from the last few weeks, his anxiety over having messed up with Scorpius, his fears of the feelings he knew he was developing, the dreams, the _bloody pigeon_, and he cracked. A single sob harshly tore out of his chest, and he sank to the floor, burying his head in his knees. He could feel himself shaking, shaking desperately and harshly. He felt a warm pair of arms snake around his trembling form, a head resting on his shoulder murmering soothing words into his ear, shapes and sounds and colors, not words; a dull roar was all he could hear, like the static of his broken down old radio as he cursed at it, halfhearted curses, the damn thing never picking up a signal, never, never, his mind the radio; searching, searching for something to hold onto, a signal, an omen, a sign, slipping, grasping and sliding away, white noise all that was left, dulling, filling, soaring, crackling. He was weak, weak, not strong, the war should have made him strong! The war, fighting, dark, death, loss, this should be better, easier, a breeze, a relief, so easy, but how to face it, how, how? Unfamiliar territory, new places, unexplored, Scorpius, lust, fear…love…no, wrong, wrong, _wrong_, the tall man was a stranger, unused to the barren, empty, dark wasteland that was him…he was falling now, falling into himself, rocking back and force, dry eyes and shaking frame, love, love, love, how, how, why?

Why?

Slowly but surely the shaking ceased, and he was left feeling as though someone had taken a melon baller and scraped out his insides, leaving only an empty husk. Teresa was still there, wrapped around his prone form, and if he could have felt any emotion more strongly than a washed out whisper, he knew he would have felt a wave of extreme gratefulness for a friend like her. She looked past the hero façade and saw him for who he truly was, and that was a trait he had only ever found in Ron and Hermione. _And Malfoy_... he realized distantly.

He took a shaky breath and let it out slowly, attempting to calm his heart rate down to something resembling normal. Placing his hands on Teresa's arms, he squeezed once before gently extricating himself from her embrace. Leaning back against the stone wall of the corner, he attempted a smile, knowing it looked more like a grimace.  
"Some picture I must make, huh?" He said quietly, staring down at his clasped fingers to avoid Teresa's worried gaze. "Collapsing from practically nothing into a mini panic attack; wow, some amazing wizard I am!" he barked a laugh, the self-deprecating comment full of bitterness.

A hand pulled his unwilling chin up to look into the gaze of his friend. In her gaze he saw only passion, no pity. "Everyone has those days," she said gently. "And, it may not seem right, but I think someone with as many skeletons in his closet as you have deserves to have those days more often than most." She smiled and pressed a kiss onto his forehead.

"Now go home!" she proclaimed, jabbing a finger into his chest. He protested weakly, but Teresa overrode his arguments with threats to him, the ministry, his food, his friends…when she threatened to find his mystery man and fuck him herself, he gave in with a faint laugh, promising to go home and rest.

"I'll take your shifts for the rest of the day. You are lucky I love you," she quipped, helping the bespectacled man slowly to his feet.

"I am, truly," he said, smiling vaguely at her. She just waved him off and sent him a coy mile over her shoulder as she walked down the hall to his next shift. He didn't even have the energy to feel guilty as he apparated, with his last burst of energy, straight into bed. He was asleep within seconds, still clad in his mint green scrubs, glasses hanging precariously off of his face.

**Ha I can practically hear the screams! I had you fooled didn't I?! Well hopefully soon now they'll finally meet...they're getting closer and closer! Poor boys, they never do want to admit their feelings hm? Well I suppose I wouldn't either if I were falling in love with some guy I was fucking...that I met a club...that I'd never seen...oops. Aaaaanyways, please tell me if you like the pace, because I feel like at this point I'm almost starting to repeat myself so I might even go back and completely rewrite this aaaaaaaahhhhhhh please help!**


	15. update

Hello readers! I am terribly sorry if you thought this was a new chapter and got really excited, but I just wanted to touch base with everyone who is disappointed I have not updated. Believe me, I am upset too, but I just really have not had time nor the ability to find the flow in my story. However, do not give up hope! I do plan to continue this story because I do love the plot and how Harry and Draco have come into themselves. I will update soon and thank you so much for having so much patience with me! In the meantime, I would absolutely love if you would comment new elements you would like to see in this story or even predictions of what you think is going to happen. I would love to read all your ideas! Thank you so much loves, I will update soon!


End file.
